Fire Ascending
by Black Krypton
Summary: Fire burns hot, and fire burns fierce. But fire burns true. At the end of third year, an over-exposure to dementors causes the Horcrux inside Harry's head to implode, flooding Harry's mind with Thomas Riddle's memories. It sets Harry down a path. An Angel dies, and a demon is spawned. A fire is born. Harry/Hermione Harry/Multi
1. Dementia

1\. For my own convenience, I have made a slight change in the ages of the characters. In my story, the Hogwarts letter arrives when you are twelve. That means when the story begins, Harry is fifteen years old.

2\. Secondly, it came to my notice that the idea has been attempted countless of times, but I still wanted to try it. Also, many things are in common with other fanfics I have read, but that feels unavoidable. Wherever deserved, I have given credit, and have otherwise have tried my level best to keep the story as original as a fanfic can be.

3\. There are some original characters in the story, but the most important of them all is Anaiah Malfoy, introduced in chapter 2. She is Draco's sister who is a Beauxbatons sixth year student.

The fuel was from hell. Like everything in his life, the fuel to his damned headache was from hell, by the spawn of the deepest pits of the forsaken inferno, born out of a million crimes and bred in the pool of sadistic tortures. Harry knew that it began because of the creatures that he had spent a year hating, and then training against. _Dementors._ If only he had been a bit more careful, he thought, his head wouldn't have been splitting open. The headache was massive, and Harry was no stranger to headaches.

 _At least Sirius got away_. That was the important thing. Sirius was safe. Now if only his head would stop aching, he could get some much wanted and equally deserved sleep. He tried to think on other things, on the absurdity of the plan that made sure that Sirius avoided the kiss. _Going back in time!_ Harry scoffed at the mere idea, regardless of the fact that he had, in fact, done just that barely an hour ago. He tried imagining a future with Sirius, when he wouldn't have to live with the Dursleys again. The image barely lasted a moment, before Pettigrew broke in on his happily ever after.

Harry swore to himself, the next time, he would stun first and ask questions later,

Pressing down a massive yawn, Harry turned to lie on his side, and immediately he could see Hermione. This was probably the first time he was sharing the Hospital wing with Hermione, and as she lay on her side facing him, Harry wondered how much the events of the night had affected her. She was looking at him- more like staring. Realizing he was looking, she immediately looked away, a slow blush rising to her cheeks. Harry blinked, confused.

"Are you alright?" He asked.

She looked at him again, and took a moment to reply. Her voice was a bit raspy. "Yes Harry. I'm fine."

She gave him a smile and he returned it. As he looked at her, he felt a huge burst of gratitude for his friend; if it hadn't been for Hermione and her time turner, Sirius would have been...worse than dead. He wondered if he had ever thanked Hermione for all she had done for him over the here years they had known each other, and with a pang of shame realized that he had been a horrible friend to her- especially this year. She had been looking out for him, something, Harry realized she always did.

"Hermione?"

Her eyes had drifted shut, but at Harry's gentle call, they opened. "Harry?"

He looked at her for a moment, wondering how best to say this. He was not good at conversations of this sort, not after the hell he had endured at the Dursleys. "Er...I...I wanted to thank you, for everything. If it hadn't been for you, I can't even imagine what I would have been...I- I...I just wanted to than-"

She cut across him in a gentle tone. "Harry, it's alright. You don't have to thank me for anything. We're friends Harry, and friends help each other." But he wouldn't have any of that, and in the quiet darkness of the Hospital Wing, illuminated only by the single torch burning overhead, Harry could see by the smile on her face that she appreciated his words. "No Hermione." He spoke a bit loudly now, making sure that she knew he meant what he was saying. "I have to thank you for a lot of things in my life Hermione, but that's not all...I, um, I...well, I would also like to apologise for how I acted when...I mean, I know you were looking out for me, like you always do, but I was a right git, and I'm really sorry."

She gave him a wide grin, "That's alright Harry, it's all in the past."

There was a long moment of companionable silence, cut only by the distant snoring of Ron coming from the far corner of the infirmary, and Harry finally found himself drifting into the arms of Morpheus. "Good night Hermione."

"Good night, Harry"

Harry dreamt that night. Regardless of the fact that he had defeated the Basilisk, Harry had been the tender age of thirteen, and a sixty foot long monster, the likes of which he had never imagined, roaring at him with its maw stretched wide, ready to devour him had been a terrifying experience, one that had left a temporary impact on his young psyche. Sometimes he dreamt of the snake. Sometimes he dreamt of his cupboard, and in those dreams he could hear the Dursleys laughing from outside the door. Sometimes in that dream, Harry would find water rushing into the cupboard from the tiny space beneath the door, and within seconds Harry would drown. He often woke up sweating during those dreams, and it was sometime later that he would fall asleep again.

But that night he dreamt of something else. That night he dreamt of monsters and men. He dreamt of the gates of hell bursting open, blown off the hinges of sins that had held them shut for eons, and of demons and diseases pouring out like so much flood. He dreamt of monsters devouring entire villages, of children staked to pikes dripping with gore and blood. He dreamt of men being crushed underfoot, of a tyrant freezing the world over, just as he had frozen over hell. And the most terrifying part? He himself was the tyrant.

Or at least he watched through the tyrant's eyes, as he plundered the world for all it was worth. He watched from behind the eyes of the man who had risen above and higher than the Gods themselves, walking alone on the paths no one dreamt of. He watched, a helpless prisoner, as Lord Voldemort ripped apart moments, and shattered the fabric of nature itself. He watched the Dark Lord spit in the face of the chaste, and embrace insanity, immortality, and all the blood that came in between.

Never had he been more horrified, or more disgusted, or for that matter so sick. Men after men, women and children, face after face, they all fell away- broken fragile glass, meant to shatter, ripped apart to bleed. Voldemort's wand was a blur throughout his dreams, dispensing green, red and a spectrum of colours that ruined and destroyed. He couldn't wake up, and he couldn't look away. For a boy clinging to the last shreds of his innocence, it was a torture of the worst kind.

It took Harry sometime, and in the dream it felt like ages, to realize that he was viewing memories...Lord Voldemort's memories. And those memories made him aware of a blindingly obvious fact- he was hopelessly outclassed. He saw such great feats of magic- the earth itself raising, like a loaf of soft, hot bread, the heavens raining down lightning as they raged against the Gods. He understood why Lord Voldemort's name was feared as it was. Harry saw the world fight against the darkest of all that was dark, and fall down to bow at its feet.

It was the darkest night Harry had ever been witness to, and so far there was no sign of dawn breaking through the miasma that had surrounded him.

He knew when he was awake. It was like he had been watching the telly, and someone had flipped the power switch. It was just so...abrupt. There wasn't any drowsiness, there wasn't any yawning. There _was,_ however, a massive headache as his fertile brain tried to accumulate the memories of a lifetime. His scar seemed to be splitting open, and it took all of his willpower to not scream his throat raw. At the first sign that he could move, he bolted upright in his bed, clutching his head, as if trying to hold it from exploding.

But there was nothing he could do to prevent the images rushing in...So much blood, and power, so much power, it made him giddy in the knees. But the pain overrode all of it.

He barely heard the doors of Madam Pomfrey's office opening, as the witch came out to check up on her patients. Seeing Harry's curled upright form, she let out a squeak of surprise, and rushed to his side. "Mr. Potter! What is it? Where does it hurt?

"Mr. Potter!" She waited for barely a second before realizing the boy in front of her was suffering too much to give her a coherent answer. Before the elderly witch could lift her wand to cast a diagnostic charm, his headache was gone. His hands relaxed, but he dared not moving, unsure if the pain would return. He held still for a few tense moments, before looking up, into the eyes of the healer. She stood frozen, looking at the boy in front of her, confusion washing her face, trying to decide what was wrong with the wizard. Then she huffed a bit, her wand hand dropping back to her side, and glared at him. "May I know, Mr. Potter, what were you doing, making me think as if you needed serious medical attention?"

Harry, still in a bit of a daze, blinked owlishly at her blurred figure. "My...my head was hurting Madam Pomfrey...but...then it stopped all of a sudden..." He was still unsure what was happening to him, so it was hardly a surprise when she looked at him with a slightly disbelieving look on her face.

"If you say so- Oh dear!" her words were cut off as Harry reacted to remembering his dreams. He reached over to the side of the bed, and vomited the previous night's dinner. Madam Pomfrey, finally thinking that there was a grain of truth in his words waved her wand in a sharp efficient motion, clearing the mess he had made. He muttered a raspy thanks to the matron, before reaching for his glasses and wand.

As his vision cleared, he looked over to the adjacent bed, and found Hermione staring at him with wide sleepy eyes. She'd just woken up, but it took her barely a second to sit upright in a tiny motion that almost didn't exist, once she realized that Harry had just been sick all over the floor between them. "Harry! Oh god! Are you alright-"

"I'm fine Hermione, thanks." Harry knew his voice sounded unconvincing, and weak, but the rush of memories inside his head was an overwhelming storm, knocking about every shed of focus he had. He avoided looking at her when she asked him again if he was alright, and thankfully Madam Pomfrey chose that moment to turn on her and start Hermione's inspection. Harry needed space, and he needed it fast. He needed to be alone, so without waiting for Madam Pomfrey's approval, he started getting up.

He threw the covers off of himself in a swift movement, and swung his legs of the bed. "Hermione," he began, giving her the shortest of looks, "I'll see you after lunch...the library. We need to talk- it's important." And before she could say anything apart from his name, Harry was out of the infirmary, ignoring Madam Pomfrey's indignant squawk of protest, and Hermione's repeated cries for him to wait for her. He was thankful for the early hours, for the corridors and staircases were devoid of students, or even Filch and Mrs Norris.

He didn't stop running until he'd reached the edge of the forbidden forest, near the Black Lake. Despite having spent last night in a terrifying death defying adventure, Harry didn't have many qualms about entering the forest, not after what he'd seen last night. There had never been much of a child in Harry, and after last night's dream, there wasn't much of a boy left either. He was almost a man now, and it was only his intimate innocence that tied him from manhood.

He turned to look over his shoulder once, twice, to make sure he wasn't being followed, or watched, before bursting into another run into the forest. When he stopped, it was upon reaching as deep as he dared to venture into the forest. He hadn't cared for direction or distance, he had just needed a quiet place to think, and this was as quiet as it got. Panting heavily, he found himself a broad tree- its roots covered in soft green moss, and slumped against it, sliding down onto the earth.

It was a banyan tree, centuries old from the looks of it. He couldn't tell the mother trunk apart from the descending roots, but it was one of the most serene and beautiful trees he had ever seen. On its other side, the waters of the Black Lake lapped gently at the white sand that stretched for a few twenty or so metres. Harry had never been to the sea, but he was sure this was quite close. Or probably as close as he would ever be.

His thoughts raged, his anger roared, and his magic flared. He was angry, far more than he had ever been in his life. And he was angry at everyone. He had seen and heard...he'd lived another life, and now that he could compare it with his own, he found he hated what he saw. He was angry at the Dursleys, but that wasn't much of a surprise, considering the fact that he was always angry at the Dursleys. Once he'd seen how normal families worked, and how children were treated in those families, all the abuse he had taken quietly had turned into venom, burning him from the inside, boiling like so much acid, ready to purge the world at the smallest sign of misery and ignorance. Time would not heal _that_ damage anymore, not now, or ever. He was angry at Dumbledore, for being a meddlesome fool, at himself, for being a lazy dumb-ass, at Sirius, for running away after Pettigrew all those years ago, when clearly Harry had needed him more. He was angry at Voldemort, for the monstrosity and atrocity he had unleashed upon the world, for having orphaned him, for having done so much, so wrong...he was angry at the Dark Lord, for burning the world down once. He was angry at Trelawney, for ever uttering the stupid _prophecy_.

The Dark Lord's life may have been sick and incredibly poisonous to watch, but at least it had been unbelievably informative. He knew things now, prophecies, magic, rituals, _people_ \- oh he knew some people in and out...It wasn't like he could do all that he had seen, but he knew where to begin. It was like watching a martial arts motion picture, he couldn't perform all the moves he had seen the actors perform, but he knew what they were, and how they could be done. It wasn't much, but considering what he had had previously, he'd just won the lottery.

If it was to be 'do or die', Harry decided he'd rather do.

He knew the prophecy now, and he knew how the Dark Lord viewed it. Do or die, kill or get killed, forever or never. Knowing the Dark Lord, and having seen what he could do, Harry knew that if the Lord Voldemort were to be resurrected, there would only be fire and wrath and hate and blood, descending from the heavens, and the defiant screamed their agony below.

He sat there, in the wee hours of the morning, enjoying the silence, cherishing it for the peace he knew it was, thinking about his slim chances, and the certainty of death in his future. He spent hours, sorting through the flood of information, reviewing what was useful, powerful and impressive, trying to forget what was really dark and sick, and wondering just how the hell was he going to learn _Occlumency_. He'd seen the vitality of Occlumency, how useful it was in a fight, especially against legends like Lord Voldemort, Snape, or Dumbledore.

He wondered who he could really trust- Hermione for one. Her he could trust with his life, he already did. Then there was Ronald, but Harry needed to make sure he would get off his ass and train himself. There was Sirius, sure, Harry would need to be a bit more comfortable around him, but Harry had liked what he'd seen last night. Maybe Professor Lupin, he _had_ taught Harry the Patronus charm after all.

Harry decided he would see about the Headmaster. As far as Harry knew, the Headmaster had his own agenda, and Harry's survival was not a great influencing factor to it. And that was the end of the list, a pathetically short list of confidants upon whom Harry could count on if trouble arose, especially if it arose in the form of a resurrected Thomas Riddle.

But he would only tell Hermione about the dream, if he could call it that. She had always been the one who had stuck by his side till the very end; he felt she had earned the right to know. Besides after last night, he felt a bit closer to her than he felt to Ron.

As expected, he found her right outside the library, pacing back and forth beside the statue of the angel carrying a pot that stood in the corridor. She looked worried, and Harry knew it wasn't for herself. He stood at the turn of the third floor corridor for a moment, before she spotted him, and with an agitated "Harry! I was so worried!" rushed towards him. She came to a stop right next to him, and giving him a soft gentle hug that was very unlike of her, looked at him expectantly.

There was a moment of silence, and then she said, "Well, you said it was important?"

"It is. I'm just not sure how to tell you...it's as bizarre and messed up as the rest of my stupid life."

She put her hand on his shoulder and gave him a soft warm smile, though the worry was there in her eyes, lurking with the concern she always carried for him. "Begin at the starting, and we'll deal with it as it comes."

It was probably what she didn't say that gave him the strength to lead her inside the library, and to the farthest corner at the very end, whose French window overlooked the Black Lake. They settled down into the comfortable library chairs, around the small circular wooden table, and spent another moment in silence, which Harry used to gather his thoughts.

Finally, taking a deep breath, he began, eyes locked on the glittering surface of the Black Lake as he talked. "It was a dream, Hermione. Or at least, it was supposed to be. Now it's hanging like a ten tonne skeleton around my neck. I...I-...I feel like I've been contaminated, poisoned from the inside..." He felt her take his hand in hers, a show of support in response to his words. And so he told her, everything. He knew he didn't need to hide the gory details from her. She was one of the strongest people he knew. He told her everything.

He felt like a sadistic bastard when her eyes filled up and tears spilled, but the look in her eyes told him she wasn't crying- she was sad. For him. But he didn't stop, he couldn't stop. He had to let someone know of the path he had chosen to walk on, that morning, under the banyan tree, alone. He had to make sure that if the path became too much for him to handle, that if he succumbed to all that was dark, someone would know that _that_ wasn't what he had intended to be. But it was his choice, it was his path. It was his road to take. He told her everything.

And she listened, without interrupting, without questioning him. Maybe it was his tone, or the intensity in his eyes, but Hermione found she could not interrupt him. She couldn't help but feel proud of him- she had never seen him so focused, so intense, but mostly she was sad. And scared. And angry. And sad.

Her heart broke when she heard of his burden, of the prophecy. Her world crumbled when she found of the Headmaster's interference. And she was lost when Harry told her of the things he had seen. But that was nothing compared to what she felt when he told her of his life with the Dursleys. She burst into tears when she couldn't take it anymore. And his eyes filled up too, but he wouldn't let the tears fall, he was the strong one. If the Hermione was the brains of the group, then Harry was the heart.

When he was done, they sat together in silence for a moment, before she got up and moved over to him to give him the tightest hug she could manage. When they broke apart after a few long moments, she spent another moment trying to make herself look presentable. When she looked back at him, he was studying her with a gentle smile on his face. "Thank you, for listening, and for being here, like you always are."

Her cheeks reddened, but at that moment, she couldn't care less. "You don't have to thank me Harry, I'm your friend, and you're my best friend."

"You're my best friend too, Hermione," he spoke after a few moments, "I mean sure, Ron is a good friend, but he...well, don't tell him that I said this, but he's not you. He's...he's not as mature as my life demands, and that's that."

Seeing the look of disbelief on her face, he gave her a smile, "Hermione, you're the only person who knows everything I've told you today. No one can know, alright?"

But Hermione launched into another tight hug, and when she pulled back, she was smiling as widely as he had ever seen her smile. "Of course, Harry! I won't tell anyone. I promise."

They stood close for a moment, before Harry spoke, "I need you to learn Occlumency Hermione. I'm sorry for asking you to work harder than you already do, but it's important."

They spent another hour discussing Occlumency, before they were interrupted by Madam Pince, who had a hard time believing the fact that students would venture into the library after the end of exams. But seeing Hermione calmed her down, though her puffy red eyes did make the librarian give Harry a stern and disapproving look.

Upon Hermione's insistence, they left the library, and took a walk down into the crowded grounds, where most of the students were taking refuge from the sweltering heat inside the castle. They visited Ronald for a bit before leaving the castle, but within half an hour were shooed out of the infirmary by Pomfrey, who insisted upon giving Ron another sleeping draught.

They talked about all that Harry had learned, and Hermione couldn't keep the excitement out of her eyes, or her voice when Harry promised to tell her anything and everything useful. He was still a bit sceptical on that one though. They talked about whom they could trust with this, and Harry shared his list with her. Hermione was a bit upset that Harry had lost all trust in the Headmaster, but when Harry shared his suspicions with her, when he reminded her all he had learnt from Voldemort, she couldn't help but agree with him.

There were a lot of questions among the two of them, some left unanswered, and some left sitting in silence. Like the question of why Dumbledore hadn't revealed the prophecy to him, or why had the Headmaster placed Harry with the Dursleys. Or the question of why Sirius had never received a trial. But the biggest mystery Harry could think of was why the dream had occurred, and as expected, it was asked by his brown haired friend. It scared him to think that there had been something of the Dark Lord lurking inside his head.

As to how the dream began, the answer came to him suddenly. Harry was sure he hadn't known of it before, but the answer came to him all the same. He suspected it had come from the Dark Lord's remains inside his head, but right now his head was such a mess, he couldn't really prove it.

His voice startled her slightly; it was slightly distant, and emotionless. But his answer made gasp slightly. "Dementia." He said.

She stared at him for a moment, amazed, before her brain took over. "Of course! How could I forget! Harry, you're right, it's dementia. I read it in the Restricted Section a while back; it's an after effect of too much exposure to dementors. It causes suppressed or forgotten memories to resurface...but of course, that's if you're lucky..."

Harry's mind was still hazy on the details. "And if you're unlucky?"

Her face lost a little colour as she spoke, "Well, if you're a bit unlucky, the dementors transfer their own agony and suffering onto you. That is what usually happens Harry...you were really lucky." Her grip on his arm tightened before she added, "And it's mostly a permanent effect, Harry."

His eyes locked onto the tallest tower of Hogwarts, vision near, but sight distant. "Believe me Hermione, if he returns, dementors are going to be the last of our worries. He had so many back up plans, it sickens me to see the measure he took. I have a feeling I'm going to see him much sooner than I'd prefer."


	2. Dragons

Chapter Notes-  
The concept of six champions, two from each school, was quite original, as was the idea of a better tri-wizard tournament. However, it seems that jbern beat me to it. Believe it or not, I had something quite like "The Lie I've Lived" in mind when I began Fire Ascending (I had thought of Tom's memories not James'), but then I came across that amazing piece of fanfiction, and realized that I wasn't doing anything new. But anyways, my point is I'm not stealing the idea from jbern, who is a favourite of mine. However, I'll still give him credit, because he did get there first, and so I'm not accused of intellectual property theft.  
Also, some lines have been copied from the book Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, so there's that.

* * *

The Halloween feast seemed to take much longer than usual. Even though it was their second feast in two days, Harry still seemed to fancy the extravagantly prepared food as much as he would have normally, probably because he had spent another starving summer at the Dursleys. However, like everyone else in the hall, judging by the constantly craning necks, the impatient expressions on every face, the fidgeting, and the standing up to see whether Dumbledore had finished eating yet, Harry too wanted the plates to clear fast, and to hear who had been selected as champions.

He shared a quick word with Hermione, as they discussed the chances of Angelina being selected over Cedric. Although being devout Gryffindors, both Harry and Hermione knew that out of the two, Cedric was the more deserving candidate, but they kept these observations to themselves. He looked to his left, about to comment to Ron on the Delacour girl, before he remembered that Ron wasn't very happy with him these days, and had taken to sitting with Dean and Seamus during meal times. At the start of the year, when Harry had announced that he would be dropping Divination in favour of Arthimancy and Ancient Runes, Ron had been displeased, and had expressed his displeasure quite publically. Harry's increased interest in his studies, and his consequently improved performance in his classes had further displeased Ron. Harry had found this rather strange, since he had expected Ron to be happy for him.

Disheartened though he may have been, Harry hadn't let it stop him. He had spent a highly productive summer at the Dursleys, even though he had been starved, reviewing all his three year courses, and going through some extra books he had borrowed off Hermione. Ever since he had returned to Hogwarts for his fourth year, Harry had barely spent a moment lazing around. The forced and unwelcome foray into the life of Lord Voldemort had been very motivating. It had made sure that Harry understood just how non-existent his chances were in an encounter with the Dark Lord. As a result, he was now completely focused on learning anything, and everything that he could, which would aid him on the path he'd chosen. There was a lot of knowledge of ancient magic, forgotten in the battle against time, known to only a select few, of sacred rituals that enhanced the wizard's power, but it was all hazy. And it was this clarity that Harry sought, spending hours upon hours in the library, or rummaging around the restricted section during the night, under the cover of his invisibility cloak. Much to his delight, Harry had seen results too. He had felt his magic getting stronger. It hadn't been substantial, but it had been noticeable. Besides, his inventory of advanced and powerful spells was on the rise. It made Harry feel he was doing something, instead of the stagnation Dumbledore had been trying to propagate within him. Harry felt he was breaking free. Harry felt he was getting ready.

All of this had, of course, pleased Hermione very much. Not only did she have company in the library at all her odd times of academic pursuits, but Harry's good results also meant someone to discuss her notes with. Plus there was the added benefit of Harry sharing all his notes on advanced and secret magic with her. Not that she let him be the only one to contribute. On the contrary, Hermione had bought 'Lauriet's Never-Ending Journals for all your notes' for both of them. They both spent countless hours filling them up with advanced and powerful spells. Ron giving Harry the cold shoulder also meant that Harry had turned completely to her. For the first few weeks, Harry had tried his best to make Ron see sense, but Ron was determined to believe that Harry had deserted him. When Harry had suggested to Ron that he could join Harry in his new schedule too, Ron had scoffed at the idea of extra studying, and left in a huff.

That had been Harry's last attempt at reconciliation. His fate was coming, and time was running. He would get this instinctual feeling at odd times, that Lord Voldemort was gaining power. He couldn't wait for Ron to grow up.

Ron still talked to them, and sometimes sat with the two of them during classes, but it was mostly just the two of them. And Hermione loved the new closeness this afforded her with Harry. All her life, she had wanted a friend like Harry, and now she had one. She'd rather kiss Malfoy than let him go. Ron's behaviour didn't put much of a damper on Hermione's spirits. She and Ron had never really been much of friends. They'd stuck together because of Harry. If it were up to Hermione, she wouldn't have anything to do with the annoying prat. And she had let Harry know of it when last Saturday, Ron had pulled her aside after her potions class and accused her of trying to drive a wedge between Harry and him.

The two were pulled out of their thoughts when Dumbledore stood up and called for their attention. "Well, the goblet is almost ready to make its decision," said Dumbledore. "I estimate that it requires one more minute. Now, when the champions' names are called, I would ask them please to come up to the top of the Hall, and go through into the next chamber"- he indicated the door behind the staff table- "where they will be receiving their first instructions."

He took out his wand and gave a great sweeping wave with it: at once, all the candles except those inside the carved pumpkins were extinguished, plunging them into a state of semidarkness.

The Goblet of Fire now shone more brightly than anything in the whole Hall, the sparkling bright, bluey-whiteness of the flames almost painful on the eyes. Everyone watched, waiting...A few people kept checking their watches...

The flames inside the goblet turned suddenly red again. Sparks began to fly from it. Next moment, a tongue of flame shot into the air, a charred piece of parchment fluttered out of it - the whole room gasped. Dumbledore caught the piece of parchment and held it at arm's length, so that he could read it by the light of the flames, which had turned back to blue-white.

"The champion for Durmstrang," he read, in a strong, clear voice, "will be Viktor Krum."  
And the hall erupted in applause and cheers, as everyone tried to be heard over everyone else in their bid to congratulate the Bulgarian seeker. Harry and Hermione joined in on the applause, but refrained to jump out from their seats, as Lee Jordan had done. The champion for Beauxbatons turned out to be Fleur Delacour, much to general applause, and Cedric Diggory followed her into the next chamber as the Hogwarts champion, which produced the loudest applause in the hall that evening, especially from the Hufflepuff table.

"Excellent!" Dumbledore called happily as at last the tumult died down. "Well, we now have our three champions. I am sure I can count upon all of you, including the remaining students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, to give your champions every ounce of support you can muster. By cheering your champion on, you will contribute in a very real —"

But Dumbledore suddenly stopped speaking, and it was apparent to everybody what had distracted him.

The fire in the goblet had just turned red again. Sparks were flying out of it. A long flame shot suddenly into the air, and borne upon it was another piece of parchment.

Automatically, it seemed, Dumbledore reached out a long hand and seized the parchment. He held it out and stared at the name written upon it. There was a long pause, during which Dumbledore stared at the slip in his hands, and everyone in the room stared at Dumbledore. And then Dumbledore cleared his throat and read out - "Harry Potter."

* * *

The rest of the night had passed in a messy blur, with lots of shouting and accusing and talking. On the insistence of Alastor Moody, the rest of the jury had very reluctantly agreed that someone must have hoodwinked the goblet into thinking four schools were participating, or at least they acted like it. From the looks they had been giving him, Harry was sure they weren't convinced of his innocence even one bit.

In the aftermath of the disastrous selection of champions, Anaiah Malfoy (who turned out to be Draco Malfoy's real sister, and had been studying in the French institution) from Beauxbatons, and Finnick Wurdy from Durmstrang had been chosen to even the odds for the three schools. It had been announced the next day during breakfast, but Harry had already had other things to worry about by that time. The first of which was one Ronald Weasley. On the night of the selection, when Harry had returned to his dorm, Ron had been very unpleasantly vocal about what he thought of Harry's attention seeking antics. That had been the visible end of Harry and Ron's three year friendship, or that's what Ron had said. It had hurt Harry deeply, but in the scheme of things, it hadn't turned out to be that important.

Harry was more concerned with how he was going to compete with five other students who were not only practitioners of magic far advanced than he was, but were also more developed and physically fit than him. He had started some physical work out since then, but he didn't think it would help much.

Then there were the troubles with the student body. No one seemed to believe him, except for Hermione of course, everyone seemed to think he had entered the tournament of his own free will. Draco Malfoy had barely let him have a moment of peace, constantly hounding him and telling anyone who would listen to support either his sister, or Diggory. Then there had been the 'Potter stinks' badges that doubled up as 'Support Malfoy!' or 'Support Diggory!' More than half the school could be seen wearing the stupid things.

There had also been that one incident outside the Potions classroom, when Malfoy had pulled a wand on him, and Hermione and Goyle had suffered as a result. All in all, Harry had had quite a trying and tiring time at Hogwarts. The only silver lining had been Hermione, who had stuck true by his side through thick and thin, always helping him with his research- both academic and extra-curricular. His growing friendship with Hermione had really blossomed, and he often found himself confiding into her with things he hadn't dared breathing to Ron.

Then there was Anaiah Malfoy. She was one of the prettiest girls Harry had ever met. She was really beautiful to begin with, with the same aristocratic features that Draco and Lucius Malfoy flaunted, with a perfectly designed oval face, and large big blue eyes. Her trademark silver Malfoy hair was waist length, and Harry had caught himself staring at her a few times. She was as beautiful as Fleur Delacour, or for that matter, his best friend Hermione.

Harry had discovered, over the course of the new Hogwarts year that a lot of fifth year boys, and even some fourth year Hufflepuffs and a few Ravenclaws had been trying to catch Hermione's eye. It had taken Harry a week, who felt he deserved the excuse of being a clueless teenage boy, to figure out why. He had been quite stumped when the answer hit him.

Harry had always found Hermione cute, not that he had ever thought much about girls romantically, but Hermione had always seemed pretty to him. But Harry had to agree that she was becoming seriously beautiful. Her bushy brown hair had straightened into curly, wavy tresses of a beautiful chestnut brown, and her large almond shaped brown eyes just added to the oval perfection of her face. Ever since that revelation, Harry found it difficult to stop staring at his best and only friend. He felt like a pervert sometimes, before he realized that he wasn't the only one staring at Hermione.

Viktor Krum was often found in the same section of the library that Harry and Hermione preferred, and Harry had seen Krum often looking at Hermione when he thought no one was looking. According to Harry, other Gryffindor perverts included Ron, Seamus and Dean. Every time he caught any male student staring at Hermione, he felt a pang of irritation he couldn't justify or define.

His own eyes often wandered, especially when she would be tutoring him in Arthimancy and Runes in the evenings. Since she tutored him in the evenings, she usually took off her robes, leaving her in her black skirt, and white blouse, with her red and golden Gryffindor tie. Harry felt really warm whenever that happened. During those times, they were often joined by Susan Bones, who like Harry had recently taken up Ancient Runes. It disturbed Harry slightly that she would not only stare at him for long periods of time, but also at Hermione.

As much as Harry wished it, he wasn't allowed the luxury to worry about girls as his class-mates. It was already the third of November, and Harry had only twenty one days left to prepare for the unknown. On twenty-fourth of November, the first task would decide his worthiness. He really hoped he didn't mess up in front of half of Wizarding Britain, and all of Hogwarts.

His schedule had become more hectic than Hermione's. He would wake up in the mornings at four, and head out into the grounds for his morning run, followed by an excursion into the forbidden forest, where he would practise the new spells he had been learning in the library, and the old ones his personal monster from hell had taught him. Sometimes, he would get the spell within minutes, and sometimes it took him days to master a spell. Hermione still thought that Harry was making unbelievable progress, and would try to join him as often as she could, but to her disappointment, she found she was used to retiring quite late into the night, and it made getting up at the ungodly hour of four quite difficult. Still, she made it around four times a week on an average.

Harry found some spells to be impossible to attempt, like the one that called down a powerful lightning strike from the heavens. He had seen Voldemort use it, and after almost a month of nights spent scouring the Restricted Section, had managed to find the book which contained the spell. Hermione had warned him that it was quite risky to attempt a spell of such magnitude, and although Harry hadn't been able to produce even a few sparks, Harry was determined. Then there was a spell which unleashed a patronus made of fire, and quite solid to the touch. So far, he had only been able to shoot wisps of flames from his wand. There was a spell that he had almost mastered, and it made his wand shoot a dragged out stunner, in the form of a red beam, as thick as a tree trunk, but it drained him so badly, the first time he managed it, Harry hadn't been able to perform any magic for an entire day. Likewise, there were countless spells, and as soon as Harry found the incantation to a rather good one, he would share it with Hermione, and they would copy it down in their Never-ending Journals.

But it wasn't enough. And Harry knew it. Being able to cast spells was one thing, but being able to cast those spells accurately at a moving target, while dodging dozens of spells at the same time was an entirely different matter. Upon further studying the Dark Lord's memories of duels against notable wizards like Dumbledore, Harry found that duelling was not just about casting the first spell that came to your mind, it was also about theatrics. You had to be able to perform feats of showy magic, to strike fear into the opponent's heart. And Lord Voldemort excelled at showy magic. Harry had had firsthand experience after all.

* * *

The classes had ended for the day. It was the fifteenth, and as the twenty-fourth drew near, Harry found his appetite vanishing. He found sleeping a bit difficult. His fifteen year body was used to handling great amounts of mental and emotional stress, but the mystery of the unknown first task was messing with Harry quite a bit.

He leaned back against the crop of stones he and Hermione had been sitting against, finishing their Runes class work, and Susan Bones had joined them an hour ago. She seemed to have accepted the fact that Harry had not put his name in the Goblet, and brought them news on what was being said about Harry in various houses. Hufflepuff and Slytherin seemed to be the most vicious, Ravenclaws, maintained the reputation of rather bland reactions that they were famous for, and while some Gryffindors were in Harry's support, most of them, especially the older ones, thought of Harry as an arrogant upstart who was used to getting his way around the school.

Ron, it turned out, had taken to wearing the 'Potter Stinks!' badge, but Harry had not deemed his actions worthy of a reaction. Harry couldn't really have cared less, but Ron's behaviour still hurt him and he would often miss the redhead, especially when Malfoy would corner him with his bunch of mindless cronies.

The evening was rather pleasant, contrary to Harry's mood, and a gentle cool breeze was blowing by the Lake. Hermione was explaining a rather complex set of Runes to Susan, and Harry had taken up the moment to go through the book he had borrowed from the Restricted Section. Lately, he had been seeing a lot more of Susan. Apparently, Susan and Hermione had been friends since the beginning of third year, but this year they had become rather close. Harry wondered how he had never noticed Susan with Hermione before, and then gave it up to his usual cluelessness about such matters.

In the distance, he could see Ron walking towards a bunch of senior Hufflepuffs, and as Harry watched, Ron pulled who seemed like Cedric Diggory out from the group of boys. Intrigued, Harry straightened up, and watched as Ron and Cedric talked for quite some time. It looked to be an excited conversation, with the way Ron was throwing his hands about. Finally, after a few long moments, Ron led Cedric off into a direction, and soon they disappeared into the Forbidden Forest. Harry found it extremely strange; as far as he knew Ron and Cedric had barely spoken a word to each other, and apart from the brief meeting before the world cup, hadn't even met before.

Harry thought of following them, but then he remembered the thick tome he had promised himself he would finish before the first task, clutched in his hand. And so he settled down again, determined to finish the book as soon as possible.

"Are you prepared for the first task, Harry?"

Susan's voice cut through his reading, and he looked up at the redhead. She blushed and fidgeted under his gaze, and Harry wondered what was wrong with her. He took a moment to answer her. "Yeah, I suppose. Well, as prepared as I can be. I just hope I don't end up making a fool out of myself in front of everyone."

Hermione frowned slightly, then said, "Don't worry Harry. You've been working quite rigorously. Just remember your training, and you should be fine. Besides, I doubt they'll give you anything worse than a sixty foot basilisk." In that moment, she realized she had said a bit too much, and even as her hand clamped over her own mouth, she turned to look at Susan, who had gone wide-eyed, and her lower jaw dropped wide open. Harry scowled slightly at Hermione, before turning to look at Susan, who was staring at him with disbelief etched clearly on her face. They all sat there in an awkward silence, none of them knowing what to say.

It was Susan, caught under the smouldering gazes of the two Gryffindors, who broke the ice.

"So...So-So it is true...You fought a giant basilisk in second year?" It was more of a statement than a question, and Susan's voice was so timid, Harry had to strain his ears to hear her. He scowled at her for a minute, trying to gauge her mind-set. It was a complete minute later that he gave her the briefest of nods. Her eyes widened even further if possible, and she stared at him for another minute. When she realized she had been staring at him open-mouthed, she blushed furiously, and started collecting her things into her book-bag.

"Susan," Harry began, but Susan seemed to know what he was about to say, "Don't worry Harry," her voice was strangely confident when she spoke, "your secret is safe with me." She gave him a smile, then turned around and walked away in the direction of the castle.

Harry turned to look at Hermione, confusion etched on his face. Hermione, however, had an apology etched onto hers. She was completely aware of how much of a private person Harry was, and yet she had blurted one of his closely guarded secrets to Susan. True, Susan was a good friend of hers, and she somewhat trusted the redhead to keep quiet on Harry's secret, but Harry didn't know Susan as well as she did.

Cursing herself inwardly, she tried to apologize to him. "I'm sorry Harry. Really...I didn't mean to say it... it just slipped out of my mouth. I'm so stupid, I don't know what I was thinking- Don't worry Harry, Susan won't say a thing about it to any one... Harry-"

Harry gave her a stern look to shut her up. "Hermione, please know this that I tell you the deepest, and most private of my secrets. You know things about me that no one ever will. You are the only person in this world that I trust anymore, so do try to be careful about what you say in front of people." He paused to take a deep breath, "Having said that, if you trust Susan to keep quiet, I suppose I'll trust your judgement on this one. But please be more careful in the future." He ended with a small smile to let her know she was forgiven, but it wasn't enough for Hermione, who proceeded to squeeze Harry into a tight hug, and add another apology or two. Harry had to tell her about Ron and Cedric to shut her up.

She was a bit more dismissive of Ron than Harry had been. "I don't know Harry; maybe it was something stupid, or seemingly insignificant? You know Ron, I doubt it was important. But if you think we should, I'll ask around?"

Harry thought about it for a moment, "Well, it can't hurt to ask around...see what you can find, but don't go to too much trouble. You're probably right...it's probably something stupid."

That was the last thought Harry gave to the incident, busying himself in the thick book for the next week. He relied heavily on Hermione, who helped him in mock duels, or with learning new spells. It did little to lessen Harry's growing sense of doom. He had a feeling something big was coming, and it probably wouldn't bode well for him.

* * *

It was the morning of the first task, November twenty-fourth, and Harry felt like it was his last day on earth. He hadn't been able to eat a bite last night during dinner, nor could he chew anything this morning during breakfast. He just sat there, numbly, staring at the bowl of fried rice in front of him, listening to Hermione plead with him to eat a little bit. He felt as if he was about to give an exam without knowing the subject. It wasn't a good feeling.

He felt someone approach, and stop behind him. It took him a few moments to turn around. It was Ron, and he had a smug smile on his face. "I hope you lose Potter!" And then he was gone. Harry sat there, unbelieving of Ron's acidic words.

Beside him, Hermione turned red with rage. "Ho-How dare that no good-...after all you've done for him Harry! How-"

"Hermione it's alright. He's just a jealous prat."

"I don't care if he's jealous Harry! Just look at him! He's acting as bad as Malfoy!"

"Mr Potter, you are required to come down to the grounds now. The first task is about to begin." It was Professor McGonagall, and right then Harry thought she couldn't have brought him worse news. He got up in a daze, unsure of how to walk. He barely registered Hermione jumping to her feet beside him, and hugging him one last time before he was led to his guillotine. He barely registered walking down onto the grounds, and entering the Champion's tent. It was all a blur.

The rest of the champions certainly looked the part, Harry thought. Fleur and Anaiah, beautiful as ever, and Cedric and Krum, looked every bit handsome and heroic as expected of them. The last champion, Harry had trouble remembering his name, Finnish...no, Fill- that was it! Finnick Wurdy. Wurdy was the only one who appeared a bit off, but then Harry realized it was because of Fleur's veela magic. The wizard was standing a bit too close to the French beauty.

His rambling mind was halted by the Headmaster entering the cramped tent, followed by Bagman, Crouch, Karkaroff and Maxime, rendering it suffocating. Harry felt like it was his first Quidditch match all over again.

"Mr Potter, would you mind stepping over here, ah yes...now, Mr Wurdy...over here if you will, Miss Delacour over there, and Miss Malfoy, of course, yes...Mr Diggory, excellent." Harry watched Bagman arrange the champions in a rough uneven circle. He pulled out a sack like brown bag from the insides of his robes, whose slightly opened mouth was slightly smoking. The bad feeling in his gut, which had been haunting Harry for almost two weeks now, suddenly erupted into a full blown panic. His hands began shaking slightly. _Buck up, Potter_ , he told himself.

"Now, each of the champions must pull out a small scale model of the creature you are about to face. Your target is to face the full reality of your selection. You have to steal a golden egg from the creature. Defeating the creature is not necessary; however, if any of you are feeling really courageous today, it is worth an extra ten points. Are we clear?"

Harry himself didn't show any outward signs that he understood Bagman, but he saw Cedric nod at the man, and Krum grunt in agreement. "Well then, ladies first! Miss Malfoy, if you will..."

Harry watched in stunned silence as the Malfoy daughter put her hand inside the bag, and pulled out what Harry mistook at first for a household lizard. It took him a moment to realize what he was looking at. It was a miniature replica of a dragon- an African Verula, to be exact. He realized the name had sprung forth from Tom Riddle's memories.

His Dementia was acting up.

Dragons. Mother-fucking dragons.

Once again, Harry realized, he was truly and utterly fucked.

He watched the champions pull out breed after breed of dragons, until it was his turn to hit the sack. Not the best moment for innuendo, Harry thought. He put a shaking hand inside the sack, groping around for the last model. Finally his fingers made contact with a rough-slimy-something. Dreading what he would see, Harry pulled his hand out. For a moment he thought he was saved, and then his heart sank faster than a lead weight.

He had pulled the most vicious of the lot. Of course he had! He spent a moment awakening his creativity to procure a proper curse for his luck. He'd pulled a Himalayan Deathtooth. The most poisonous dragon in the world. He tried searching his fucked up brain for a way to battle a fully grown Deathtooth. His brain did just that. It fucked him up. It gave him no answer. Harry heard someone shout something, a loud bang that sounded suspiciously like a canon shot, and then silence.

He found himself a seat with some effort. He was scared as fuck. Panic wouldn't let him use the Dementia to his advantage. It was like holding a gun, but not knowing how to turn the safety off. It was like staring death in the face. He lost track of time, hearing only the canon shots. When he felt someone stop in front of him, he looked up to see Cedric looking at him with some concern. "What's wrong Harry? You look a bit surprised. Don't tell me you didn't know!"

Harry felt like someone had pulled his stomach a few feet down. "Know what?"

"About the dragons of course! Are you kidding me? Harry! Your friend Weasley told me about them. How could you not know?" Harry felt his blood freeze in his veins. Rage flooded through him, burning his fear away. It burned away the last of his naivety. It purged him of trust, and replaced that delicate thing with hate and anger. So that's why the git was so smug!

"What are you going to do now, Harry?" Cedric looked worried, and Harry wondered how much of it was for him.

"Don't worry Cedric, I'll manage. Good luck." They were the last ones in the tent. At that moment, the canon sounded again, signalling Cedric's turn. Harry's words felt hollow even to him.

"Good luck, Harry."

Harry watched the Hufflepuff walk out, and heard the cheers from the crowd in response to his appearance. But it didn't matter to Harry. He had been alit, and he was bursting to burn something. He needed to release the frustration that had been mounting for fifteen years. He needed to burn. He needed to burn for all the times he had been pushed around, stepped on. He needed to burn for all the times he had been shut inside his cupboard...for all the times he had been fuelled.

His fuel from hell returned with a vengeance, and it welled within him, coiling like a snake about to strike, building like a volcano to erupt. His was a fire that would consume and devour. His was a fire that would burn forever. His was a fire that would burn everything.


	3. Ignition

He stepped out into absolute silence. There was no applause for him. No one cheered. It wasn't the silence before a storm; it was the silence before total annihilation. Because that's what Harry planned to do. He was going to annihilate the Deathtooth. He was going to douse his name in gasoline, and set fire to it, so the whole world would see his name clear and bright, and know that Harry Potter was fucking invincible. He was going to strike fear into the heart of whichever bastard that had decided to play this sadistic joke on him.

And when it was over, Harry was going to find where the hell these aggressive thoughts were coming from.

It was a pit, with thirty metre high walls. There were enclosures built into the pit walls. Six enclosures, for six dragons, situated at the vertices of the hexagonal pit. One of them was empty, and when Harry saw the size of the dragon sitting in front of the gaping cave, his heart jumped into his throat. It was huge, around twenty metres tall, and easily seven metres wide. Its massive body was covered in dark green scales. Its features were serpentine, like someone had messed up transfiguring a Basilisk into a bat. Its leathery wings had an easy wingspan of twenty metres, and its eyes glowed red even in broad daylight. Its nostrils bellowed a constant stream of thick smoke that curled around its own body, half obscuring the dragon from view. His teeth were as long as swords, and sharp enough to cut at the tiniest contact.

The pit was full of stacks- high stone structures shaped like broad uneven pillars, and Harry thanked his stars for that little mercy. In the back of his mind, Bagman's constant commentary registered, but he decided to ignore that. He took slow measured steps, and as he neared the dragon, he realized the dragon was bound in chains. He tried to remember a dragon's weaknesses, but his mind came up blank. Harry realized his Dementia was deserting him. And that is when things decided to get worse. The caves in which the dragons resided were shut off by bars of magically reinforced metal as thick as Hagrid, placed so closely together, they looked like a wall of iron and steel. And so it came as a great surprise to Harry when the one nearest to the Himalayan dragon breed burst open, raining the pit with shrapnel. There was a moment of stunned silence before the crowd went wild. Harry could hear screams and shouts, calls for the dragon handlers to enter the pit.

This was it, Harry realized, this was why he had been entered into the tournament. This was the attempt at his life he had been promised. This was the move of the Dark Lord. The ball was in Harry's court now. He chanced a glance upwards, towards the jury's desk. To his dismay, it only helped to confuse him.

The entire arena, with the exception of the stands, was being covered in a translucent silvery-white dome of magic. Harry watched as Dumbledore, looking as wild and powerful as Merlin himself, with his long silvery hair floating behind him, wave his wand like a possessed man. At first Harry thought he was casting the dome, trying to protect the spectators...but then he realized that the dome was shutting him off. Inside the pit. With two fully grown dragons.

 _You're shutting me inside, you white piece of rotten shit!_ Harry thought, trying to understand why Dumbledore wasn't helping him. Was he still playing the same games that Tom remembered, 'The Greater Good'?

An echoing roar brought Harry's panicking mind back into the pit. The Deathtooth was shuffling to the side, a bit away from the newly opened cave. As soon as it cleared its own cave, Harry could see the eggs. There were seven of them, six pearly white, and one glittering golden.

The skies above were darkening rapidly. Black clouds were churning in from the east. A storm was coming.

The dome was halfway down by now, and Harry remembered the time he had faced the basilisk, back in second year. He remembered running through the chamber, its dark slimy tunnels. He remembered the helplessness he had felt, alone and cold, without his precious wand, left to the mercy of a monstrous beast few could imagine. A child of thirteen, standing against all odds. Then he remembered plunging the sword of Gryffindor into the beast. He felt a giddying rush of warmth, knowing he had slain a Basilisk.

The wind picked up, a cloud blocked out the sun partially. Harry let the wind caress his face, his mind running at a million miles an hour. His life was flashing before his eyes. And so far, he had only hate and neglect to review. He saw the Dursleys, throttling him, choking him with their hate for what they weren't. He saw them stomping on his pride and faith, destroying purity. He saw the sneering face of Severus Snape, hating what Harry was because he could. He saw Draco Malfoy, spitting on what he never would be.

He saw Ronald Weasley, jealous beyond measure. He saw betrayal.

And then, in the end, he saw Hermione. He saw love and devotion. He saw her faith in him. Harry saw that which he desired and cherished above all else. Harry saw reason. Harry saw beauty. Harry saw strength.

In that moment Harry wanted to reward Hermione's faith in him more than anything else. In that moment, Harry wanted to be worthy of her devotion.

It was a moment, when Harry was standing, but his soul was on its knees.

His anger went ballistic. His rage roared like a caged monster, wanting to be let out. His Dementia returned- a slave to his fury. He knew what he was going to do. Something clicked. Something was about to burn. This was his ignition. This was his wrath.

A second passed. Something clicked. The Deathtooth roared, letting out a massive plume of fire. Something burned. From the dark corners of the second cave, a low growl ensued, and a reptilian neck became visible.

A moment passed. The dome was almost down. That is when the third enclosure burst open. The Chinese Fireball wasted no time in charging out of the enclosure. The unchained dragon took flight immediately. Fortunately, the dome was almost down. It struck the shield of magic, and crashed into the Beauxbatons stands. There was another round of high pitched screams as the stands collapsed backwards. Much to Harry's relief, the stands collapsed outwards, making sure the students stayed out of the arena. That was until he noticed the petite figure of Anaiah Malfoy land on top of the Fireball, then roll over, finding no foothold on the dragon's smooth streamlined scales, and slide down on to the hard earth of the arena. Harry thought he saw blood.

The dome touched the earth, trapping Harry effectively.

 _Fuck!_ That is when he burst into action. He ran towards the now straightening dragon, a spell on his lips. Dragons feared lightning. Harry was going to make sure it stayed that way.

The Malfoy daughter was getting to her knees. Her blue eyes were wide, and her pale blonde tresses were slightly dirty. He skidded to a stop by her side. She was staring, transfixed with horror, at her broken wand. _Great,_ Harry thought. The dragon was looking at them now, probably wondering why they weren't running helter-skelter. It bared its teeth, letting loose a guttural roar, a few tendrils of black smoke escaped from its mouth, and curled upwards towards the darkening skies. A storm was coming. Harry gripped his Holly wand in his right hand and Anaiah's forearm in his left. He pulled her back, behind him, to shield her from the effects of his spell.

The entire stadium seemed to have gone silent. Their panic long forgotten, they stood like silent statues awaiting the end of the 'boy-who-lived'. Most of them wondered why the boy was standing in front of a dragon, about to become nothing more than slobbery dragon food. The world seemed to have gone still. Harry realized the annihilation he had promised was coming.

The entire crowd forgot to breathe when Harry raised his wand, pointing it upwards. _Time to do or die._

"Die motherfucker! FULMINATA VENTUS OAXIM!" Harry roared. His magic flared, rushing in to serve its master. The dragon roared back, deafeningly louder than Harry. It prepared to spit forth fire, opening its maw wide. For a moment Harry wondered if the spell was going to work. It had never reacted before. But today, he probably wasn't thinking straight, but today he had a feeling, today he was invincible.

That is when it happened, thunder pealed, the heavens roared, and a bolt of pure white, crackling and burning with electrical energy surged towards the earth. Harry leaped backwards, pulling Anaiah with him. They crashed somewhat roughly into a stack. Eyes shielded, Harry _heard_ the lightning bolt strike the dragon. There was a loud screeching noise, that of metal being scraped against the earth, and then a maddening scream that tore at all human ears. The air smelled heavily of ozone. Harry chanced a look at the dragon. And he knew he was worthy.

The back of the dragon's neck, where the lightning had struck glowed red hot, the scales had been blasted off in a circular area, and some had melted on the spot. Harry saw blood, dragon blood spill over the gaping wound. He felt bad for hurting a creature forced to do the will of wizards, but he had no choice. It was 'do or die'. And he didn't intend to die. For a moment, everything was silent but the dragon, and then the crowd went wild, cheering and shouting and yelling their approval. This was the entertainment they had been promised.

The dragon screamed and screamed, and Harry heard the dragons on the other end of the arena scream in response. Harry heard more dragon screams coming from the other enclosures, and that is when the fourth enclosure burst open, and out ran the African Verula. "What the fuck?" Harry screamed. Harry decided that when he found who had entered him into the tournament, he would try out some of the nastier curses he had learned. To his left, Anaiah screamed in terror, and the Chinese Fireball attempted flight again, scared witless of Harry, trying to put as much distance between him and the wizard as it could.

Unfortunately for the dragon, its spine had taken quite a hit, and so with another heart breaking wail full of agony, it crashed into the newly released Verula. Harry took a moment to study the African dragon. It wasn't tall at all; rather, it looked like a giant alligator, or an enlarged Komodo dragon. Behind it, the Hungarian Horntail emerged from its cave finally. It looked as intimidating as the Deathtooth, but with smaller wings.

 _Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!_ Harry was of two minds. Half of him could only think of how fucked he was, and the other half of him was taming his Dementia to bring forth more and more spells that could be used to defeat four dragons. Outside the dome, Harry saw Dumbledore working his wand furiously, Karkaroff and Maxime beside him, their own wands a furious blur. On Dumbledore's left, a group of around sixteen dragon handlers, stood at the ready, waiting. On the wizard's right, stood the Hogwarts staff- McGonagall, Snape, Filtwick and Aurora, all with swishing and twirling wands. It was then that Harry realized what had happened. Dumbledore hadn't cast the shielding dome. No, that was all part of some fucker's plans, it was all part of the attempt at Harry's life. Dumbledore had been trying to slow the damn thing down. It hadn't worked.

Anaiah screamed again, bringing Harry back to the arena. What he saw wasn't good at all. The Fireball and the Verula were horsing around, fighting viciously amongst themselves, their jaws snapping, claws mauling, and maws roaring. The noise was too much. But that wasn't the troubling part. The troubling part was the charging Hungarian Horntail, running straight towards him.

"Shit!" Harry broke into a run, hiding behind stacks, pulling Anaiah with him. She had gone numb, like a ragdoll. Behind him, the dragon came like a storm, blasting through stacks like bowling pins. Harry took one look at the charging dragon, and decided on his course. He looked the French witch straight in the eyes. She was having a full blown panic attack, but Harry decided not to hold it against her. Any rational person was allowed to have those when faced with four gigantic dragons.

"Malfoy! Run. Look over there, that fallen stack!" Harry pointed, making sure that she was listening to him. She turned her neck slowly, in a daze. Harry shook her, trying to snap her out of it. The earth trembled as the dragon came upon them. _Too late_ , Harry thought as he let go of her. She fell to her knees, but there wasn't much Harry could do about it. He had a dragon to deal with. He turned back to face the dragon. It was about twenty metres away, blowing a seven metre long plume of fire in Harry's direction.

Harry raised his wand, thanking the fates for his blessed Dementia. "Incuri STUPEFY MAXIMUS!" Harry shouted the spell at the top of his voice. To his immense pleasure, the effect was immediate. A thick beam of red light burst forth from his wand, its recoil pushing Harry two steps back. It struck the charging dragon in the face. It was like hitting a charging horse with water from a hose. The dragon roared again, broken out of its run, it crashed into a stack. Harry kept the stunner up even though the cost was immense. He could feel his breath running out, his knees were shaking. He was tiring.

But there was no other choice. Harry had to keep the dragon down. He heard Bagman curse through his commentary in his excitement, and the consecutive cheering of the crowd in the background.

The Horntail tried getting up, writhing in pain, but its movements were clumsy now. Harry's modified stunner had been effective. Sadly, the spell chose that moment to sputter out. The crowd had gone berserk, roaring in excitement. Down below, the Horntail's neck rose slightly, and Harry knew what to do. He aimed his wand at the bottom of the stack, visible over the dragon's wing, and bellowed "Bombarda Maxima!"

The spell blasted a major chunk off the rock formation. The stack took a moment, before gravity did its work. It toppled over the dragon, landing across its massive torso in a cloud of dust and stone shards. The dragon gave another roar and then went silent. Joy swept over Harry. It was one little victory, but it was a victory over a fully grown dragon. That ought to count for something.

The crowd cheered, and Harry could hear the synchronised chant of "Potter!" over and over again. He turned his back to the fallen dragon, still shrouded in the now settling cloud of dust, and faced the Deathtooth. So naturally, that is when the dragon attacked. There was a rumbling from beneath the stone, before the dragon burst forth in an explosion of stone rubble and dragon fire.

Red hot stone struck Harry across the back and sent him flying. He struck another column of stone and landed on the ground in a heap. Winded and hurt, Harry found his left arm was bent at an unnatural angle, and the left lens of his glasses had broken. He cursed out loud, rolling on the ground in pain, hearing the crowd scream and go silent in anticipation. He heard Anaiah Malfoy scream somewhere left of him, and then the ground began to rumble. The dragon was moving again.

Harry didn't know how it happened. All he knew that he had never felt as angry in his life as he felt right then. The dragon's defiance had ignited his fuel again. He stopped thinking, and acted on memory alone, none of which was his own. He didn't know when he had gotten up; he didn't know how he had gotten up. He didn't feel the pain raging through his left arm; he didn't see the blood flowing freely across his back.

He only saw a dragon which was about to die.

The Horntail screamed again, and breathed fire Harry's way. Its right wing was badly damaged, and its teeth had broken in, where Harry's stunner beam had struck him, making its mouth a bloody frothy mess.

Harry's hand moved of its own accord, following instructions from memories he wasn't aware of ten minutes ago. His wand spun in circles and curves, drawing patterns Harry had no idea existed, and somewhere along the way, its tip started glowing an angry red shade. A chant appeared on his lips, a language Harry had never heard before.

There was a peal of thunder in the sky, and it began to rain. The dragon charged at Harry, bellowing fire at him.

But Harry stood his place calmly, finishing the spell just as the dragon stopped ten metres away from him. There was a loud explosive bang, from the tip of Harry's wand, and a shockwave erupted. The dragon remained unaffected. But it had stopped in its tracks. It was staring at Harry, as if unsure on how to proceed.

From behind him, after almost a year and a half, Harry heard a very particular hiss.

 _"_ _No...sssss...this is...ssss...this is treachery of the worst kind..."_

It was parseltongue, clear as day. It made Harry turn around in a flash. He momentarily forgot about the Horntail. In front of him, some eighty metres away, a very beaten Chinese Fireball lay nursing its wounds, and the Verula was circling the other half of the arena, looking at Harry suspiciously. But Harry had eyes only for the Deathtooth.

The dragon was looking at Harry with intelligent red eyes blazing like the braziers in Hogwarts, visible event through the rain. Even as Harry watched, the dragon opened its mouth, and words burst forth in the hissing tone of Parseltongue. " _Sssss...Thou must not...wizard...the dragon's bane...sssss...ssss..."_

For a moment Harry was confused, behind him the Horntail roared again, and then his Dementia filled him in. The Dragon's Bane- the spell he had attempted, rather successfully. Any minute now, music would burst from his wand's tip. But it wouldn't be just any music, it would be Dragon Tongue. It was the ultimate weapon against dragons, lost to wizard kind three hundred years ago. For the dragon to know of it, it had to be more than three hundred years old. To all other species, it was the most beautiful melody that could be imagined, but to dragons, it was torture of the worst kind. It was magic as ancient as the species it was named after.

At that moment, the Horntail lunged. Instincts Harry never had erupted, and he dived to his right, cradling his broken arm with great care. He screamed slightly when he put too much pressure on it. Not wasting half a second, Harry jumped upright and called forth another lightning strike, aimed at the rearing Horntail's head. "FULMINATA VENTUS OAXIM!"

Thunder pealed, the skies lit up, and another lightning bolt descended from the heavens. The Horntail turned around from where its lunge had carried it, and just as he turned to face the young wizard, the bolt of thundering electricity struck its head. The dragon's head exploded in a burst of blood and bone and brains, the rest of its body dropping down like a sack of potatoes. At that exact same moment, music flooded the arena, a haunting melody borne out of broken promises and burning faith.

It was a harmony woven together by the tears of chastity, blended with the blood of angels, and tempered in the heart of an abyss no god dared to enter. It was the most beautiful thing Harry had ever heard. It was also the saddest thing Harry had ever heard. It issued from his wand, and filled the entire stadium. It spread throughout the ancient castle, and ran rampant through the Forbidden Forest.

Creatures awakened, as time itself paused for the hundredth of a jiffy to listen to the most beautiful tune to ever grace its seconds. The centaurs of the forest looked to the castle in wonder, amazement and disbelief. It had been far too long since wizards had called forth the Dragon's Bane. The merfolk of the Black Lake rushed to the surface of the water body, unbelieving of a melody more beautiful than theirs. The ghosts of Hogwarts stopped dead in their tracks, their eyes fixed far away. Every creature within the vicinity of the spell was struck by the melancholy the tune carried. It captured their hearts and left a haunting kiss upon their ears.

In the arena, the effect of the spell on the dragons was immediate. They roared and screamed, they spewed fire, and they stomped and charged around. Agony erupted in their veins, as the magic boiled their blood. In the far corner of the pit, the Chinese Fireball dropped dead, the magic of the music turning out to be too much for the battered beast to handle. The Verula rammed its head against the stone stacks and the walls of the pit.

" _Thou must stop...ssss...this is insanity...Wizard...thou must not..."_

 _"_ _Then bow! Ssss...Bow to me..."_ Harry had no idea where the words were coming from, but as long as they kept him alive, it didn't really matter to him. He had no trouble imagining the great dragon in front of him as a snake. " _Bow to me and I shall spare thy life dragon...ssss...accept thy defeat..."_

The dragon looked at him for a few long moments as if it could not believe that Harry spoke the Serpent-tongue, and the sane part of Harry wondered if he had gone too far. But then, ever so slowly, the dragon lowered its head. Harry couldn't believe it. A Himalayan Deathtooth, one of the greatest breed of dragons, had submitted to his will. As his Dementia receded, his mind calmed down. He felt quite sick, torturing and killing beasts that had already been bound by men, but he really didn't have much of a choice.

He maintained eye contact with the dragon as he limped forwards. Every eye, still wide and unbelieving, was fixed on the Gryffindor.

" _Thou promised...ssss...wizard...thou promised...ssss...stop this madness...it burns...stop this bane..."_ The dragon wailed again, and Harry took pity on it. He chanted the final verse of the spell, in the foreign tongue, and slowly, like water receding from a shore, the melody faded into the nothing it had come from.

A few moments of stunned silence passed. The dragon remained prostrated before Harry. And then the crowd broke into screams of jubilation again. Harry couldn't believe he had done it. He stood there for a moment, taking in the victory he had yanked from the hands of death and defeat. And that is when the Verula attacked.

Thankfully, that was when the magical dome shattered. And the cavalry arrived.

But it didn't prevent the Verula from ramming into Harry and sending him flying without a broom for the second time that day. He landed on a fallen column, and promptly crushed the remainder of his left arm. Pain flooded his senses, and he screamed in agony as it registered. Hot tears rushed to his eyes, and Harry saw black spots in his vision.

"Is Harry Potter finally down? Witches and Wizards of the tournament, Harry Potter has been attacked by the African Verula again. He seems to have hurt that broken arm again. Will he rise, or is this the breaking -limit of Harry Potter, the Boy-who-Lived? Here, the Verula advances again! Get up Mr Potter!"

Harry heard Ludo Bagman's shoddy commentary. He had to admit, he had had enough of bloody dragons for an entire lifetime. He felt the earth rumbling again, as the Verula approached. He reached for his wand, only to find it was gone. He panicked, sitting up on the column, eyes searching for the stick.

"Potter seems to have lost his wand. And there the handlers are rushing in, with Dumbledore at the lead. He does look troubled. But the-" Here Ludo was cut off by the Verula's roar. Before Harry knew it, the dragon was upon him. Stunners flew from behind the dragon, some striking him, and some flying past. The dragon handlers danced around the enraged dragon, and Harry backed away until he had reached the edge of the fallen stone column. The Dragon stood in front of him. It was slightly larger than a bus, and twice as long.

Harry, barely able to stand, wondered if this was how he would die- cornered by a stupid dragon, broken and bleeding. He was unarmed. He was tired and he was cold.

The dragon roared, its jaws opening wide enough to swallow Uncle Vernon's car in one go. The scene was an eerie replica of his experience with the Basilisk. Without a wand, and without friends. If only he had the sword of Gry- _Holy Fuck! The Sword!_ Harry wondered if he had gone insane, but there wasn't anything else left to do. He could have stood there and waited for the dragon to finish him, or he could have given the shattered moment everything he had.

The latter sounded rather good to him. The latter sounded rather heroic to him.

He took one last look at the dragon, whose thick hide was repelling every spell the handlers could have thrown at it. The dragon's scaly hide had started glowing a strange red colour, and Harry wondered if it was natural. Dumbledore was shouting at him to run. Harry watched the Headmaster wave his wand in intricate patterns, and realized why the dragon hadn't attacked him yet. Dumbledore was holding the giant reptile back through the sheer force of his magic. Behind Dumbledore, stood Snape, casting spell after spell at the dragon, none of which were having any effect on the beast. There was so much commotion; it started hurting Harry's ears, already sensitive from all the dragon roars.

He could have walked away. He could have let Dumbledore take care of the dragon. But Harry wanted to send a message to Voldemort and his followers. He wanted to let people know that to fuck with Harry Potter was to court death. Standing there in the drenching rain, soaked throughout, shivering from the cold, Harry realized he had changed. He wasn't a boy anymore. He wouldn't be 'just-Harry' ever, no matter how much he wanted to. He was Harry fucking Potter, the one who was destined to vanquish the Dark Lord. Maybe it was time he started living up to his legend.

Harry chose that moment to move. He stood up with considerable effort, almost toppling over twice in the process. Wincing in pain, he raised his right hand as high as he dared to. The roaring crowd quietened so fast, it was like a 'Silencio' had been cast over Harry's ears. They watched entranced, as Harry Potter took on the mantle of Harry fucking Potter.

Harry was sure it wouldn't work. Harry was sure he was going to make a fool of himself in front of a full stadium. But it did. It worked like a charm.

The ruby encrusted hilt appeared in his hand out of nowhere, and shimmered into the Sword of Gryffindor. Harry lowered his hand. He couldn't believe it had worked, the Sword of Gryffindor had responded to his call. He sent a quick thanks to whoever was watching over him, and stared at the sword for a second. Then he turned to look at the still raging dragon.

He took a swing to make sure he was strong enough for the job. The dragon seemed to have sensed what was coming, for it began to struggle harder.

 _For all the times I've been ignored._ His mind was clear, even though his vision was swimming. But his gait didn't show it. Right then, Harry looked as much of a champion as anyone had a right to. He took off at a run, leaping onto the subdued dragon's head.

The crowd broke into cheers again, knowing what Harry was about to do.

 _For all the times I was not allowed. For all the times I've been burned by the hate of the unworthy._ He searched around the beast's scales, looking for a weakness. The dragon handlers were looking at him with a stunned expression, seeing but not believing. Dumbledore was shaking his head in disapproval, but Harry couldn't bring himself to care about his opinion. Snape looked aghast, as if he couldn't believe what he had witnessed, or what he was about to.

The beast thrashed, and Harry lost his balance, falling onto the beast. Getting back up again was a struggle, but Harry was determined.

 _For all the times my cries were lost in their echoes. For all the times I had to push through._ He found a wound where the Fireball had chewed through a couple of scales, and raised the sword. It quivered and shook as his hand shivered violently. The struggling Verula was making the task than it already was, and Harry let a soft curse slip through.

He looked up into the rain one last time, at the thundering grey clouds, and then with all his might, plunged the sword into the dragon's head. The dragon roared louder than ever before, gave up one last feeble struggle, and then breathed its last. Harry left the sword stuck in the beast, and slid of the side of the dragon. As soon as his feet hit the floor, he crumpled onto the ground. Immediately, people rushed to Harry's side to help the champion get up.

Once they had placed him back on his feet, Harry pushed them off, not wanting to appear weak. He saw Dumbledore watching him with a strange look on his face. There was no twinkle in his blue eyes. Harry realized the old man was disappointed in him.

A dragon handler handed Harry his wand, and Harry thanked the star-struck wizard.

The crowd surrounding him multiplied faster than possible. They all wanted to congratulate the champion who had done the impossible. But Harry's task was not yet finished. He raised his wand to part the crowd, which fell silent at once. They made way for Harry, who limped his way towards the bound Deathtooth. The dragon had been watching him with blazing red eyes. As soon as it saw Harry approaching, it lowered its head in submission.

" _You have something that belongs to me...ssss...give me the egg..."_

The dragon looked at Harry for one long moment, and then turned towards the mouth of its cave. A scaly tail wrapped around the glittering golden egg, and then it was lifted out of the dragon's nest. The dragon deposited the egg at Harry's feet, and the receded back.

" _So...ssss...long...Dragon-Slayer...ssss...from this day...all dragons shall recognize thee...as ...ssss...the...ssss...Dragon-Slayer..."_ The dragon said. Harry was astounded. He gave the dragon a confused look as he collected his egg. The dragon receded back into its cave, and Harry opened his mouth to say something, maybe a word of gratitude.

Unfortunately, his body chose that moment to succumb into unconsciousness, the day's incidents coming to take their toll.


	4. So much for apologies

**So much for apologies**

Author's notes:-

Well, this is a rather large chapter...I hope it's not boring. I have tried to keep it exciting enough.

I would like to mention, that Fleur does not have the French accent in this story. What else...lemme see...yeah, I have mentioned a few ways to tackle dragons, I hope none of them suck...I also tried putting some very mild Harry-Hermione fluff. Their relationship is going to begin very soon.

When Harry's eyes opened, it was dark. There was a dull lingering ache all through his left arm, and a slight soreness in his ribs. His back felt rather itchy, almost like a faded burning sensation. For a moment, he didn't know where he was, or how he got there, but then the events of the first task flooded his brain, and with a sigh he realized he was in the infirmary.

He fumbled around in the dark for his spectacles. The darkness became a bit more discernible, and his eyes slowly adjusted to the dim light of the torches. He was slightly startled when he heard someone moving in the shadows in the other end of the infirmary. He screwed his eyes to see better, and then relaxed when he saw it was Madam Pomfrey, bustling about silently, around a bed hidden from sight by curtains.

A few silent moments passed before the medi-witch realized that Harry was awake. She hurried over to his side immediately. "Oh Mr Potter! You're awake." She performed a few spells on him, and Harry used that time to gather his senses. He had a feeling he had been asleep for quite some time.

"How long was I out for?" His voice was rough, and he gladly accepted the glass of water Madam Pomfrey produced for him. "Three days, Mr Potter. All your fancy spell work drained your magical core to the point of critical depletion." Here her voice turned strict, and from the look on her face, Harry knew she was quite frustrated with his frequent trips to the Hospital wing. "I don't know what the ministry was thinking. You are a fourth year, for Merlin's sake! Dragons! What will it be next? Demons and Ancients?"

She stopped abruptly when she realized she had begun to raise her voice. "Though I must say, Mr Potter, it was the most amazing performance Hogwarts has seen in decades. The judges were most impressed." She said in a much softer tone. She was looking at him with an emotion Harry thought he would never see in the medi-witch's eyes. For just a small moment, Harry thought it was pride. It left a warm feeling in his chest.

Then Harry remembered her description of his health. He almost spit the water back out. "Three days! Bloody hell!"

In an instant, the nurse was back to her no nonsense attitude that Harry was so familiar with. "Keep your voice down, Mr Potter, or I'll give you a sleeping potion." That shut Harry up immediately.

"Can I leave?" He asked the witch, somewhat timidly. Her replying glare was answer enough. "If being in the infirmary bothers you so much, Mr Potter, then maybe you should be a bit more cautious." There was a moment of silence, in which the witch handed Harry three vials of dark coloured potions, and Harry gulped them down without protest, wincing at the sour taste they left in his mouth. "You can leave within the hour, though I would advise against it. Also, the Headmaster has been around..."

 _Great,_ Harry thought. He picked his battered wrist-watch from the small wooden table at the head of his bed and checked the time. Three in the morning, or night if you saw it that way.

Harry sat in silence, waiting for the witch to finish her examination. "You have a very good friend in Miss Granger, Mr Potter. The poor girl has been worried sick for you. I had to threaten her with detention to make her leave."

Harry had always known that Hermione spent time by his sick bed whenever he was in the infirmary, but still, he felt warm and fuzzy when he heard it. "I know, Madam Pomfrey," said Harry, a smile on his face. "I know."

"Rest, Mr Potter," the witch spoke as a parting, "you're going to need it."

Once the nurse had left, Harry lay back down, head filled with a myriad thoughts. He knew trouble was coming. Trouble of a different sort, albeit, but trouble none the less. Dumbledore was going to be onto him now. He'd want to know where Harry had learnt magic of such magnitude. Harry's Occlumency shields were barely existent. Hermione's shields, on the other hand, were quite well developed for a beginner. She was sure she could at least detect an intrusion, even if it was by Dumbledore. She'd said it was because she already had a very logical, disciplined and ordered mind. He had agreed with her readily, but his own measly shields had put quite a damper on his mood. He had been working on them ever since he had returned to the Dursleys, but even now, he had gotten nowhere. They were definitely nowhere good enough to last even a second against Dumbledore. When _that_ meeting took place, the best Harry could do was avoid direct eye-contact. And pray it worked.

The _Prophet_ would want to know too. In fact, everyone would want to know how he had done it. Especially something as old and forgotten as the Dragon's Bane, something not most even knew of. Something he himself hadn't known of until he had begun casting it.

For a moment he wondered how he had done. Pretty good, if he said so himself. He wondered how Cedric and the others had done. His eyes wandered from rafter to rafter as he thought about how best to tackle things. He was still of two minds about telling Dumbledore the truth.

He let out a sigh and turned on his side. He remembered the nasty article Rita Skeeter had written. She was going to have a field day.

At four thirty, Harry left the infirmary. For a moment he debated going for his morning run, but his arm decided to answer for him with a dull ache. He decided it was better not to push his luck. He'd been advised rest. Maybe it was time he listened to the nurse who knit him back together every time he tore himself apart. So he turned towards the Gryffindor tower, and thanked the fates for the desolate corridors. He wondered how the student population was going to react.

On his way to the tower, Harry thought on how he was going to deal with Ron. After a time, Ron's behaviour had stopped bothering him- mostly. But this was major. Harry could have died- would have died if it hadn't been for his Dementia, or if Dumbledore hadn't arrived in time. For a few seconds, Harry appreciated the irony. The people who were supposed to protect him had let him be thrown unprepared into a pit full of dragons, and the Dark Lord who had sworn to destroy him, had indirectly saved his life. _Though looking back at it,_ Harry thought, _he did put me there._

"Balderdash." He said upon reaching the portrait of the fat lady.

Instead of swinging forwards open to admit him in, the fat lady scowled at him. "That's not it young man. The password was changed two days ago."

Harry stared at the painting for a moment. What the hell was he supposed to do now, at almost five in the morning? _Better head to the Lake_.

He was about to turn to leave, when the portrait swung open from the inside, and out stepped Hermione. She didn't see him at first, standing by the railings, but then her eyes dropped on him, and she went stone still. They stood there like that for a couple of seconds, just looking at each other, the portrait hole wide open behind her. And then she was upon him, hugging him to her like it was the end of the world. Harry certainly wasn't complaining. Hermione was the only person whose touch Harry welcomed. It never felt suffocating.

From a very young age, Harry had learnt to associate physical contact with pain. Whenever his relatives had touched him, it was only to hurt. He'd most certainly never received any kisses or hugs from his aunt. It had all left Harry damaged in a way no child should ever have to be. It was a wound Harry had always feared would never fade.

But then Hermione had hugged him at the end of first year. That had been the start. That had been his first hug. Harry had learnt that she could bring him comfort and warmth like no one else could. She had become a salve, a balm to that festering wound he carried in his heart. She had become a silent lullaby to his melancholy.

Her warm scent wafted over him, and it reminded Harry of apples and fresh rain. Maybe it was her shampoo. She was dressed, Harry noticed, in her jogging outfit- ankle length pyjamas and a tank top. Simple black robes hung over her left shoulder. She hadn't joined him in his morning excursions often, but it looked like she had been heading out to one.

When she didn't let him go after a few minutes, Harry pulled back slightly to look at her, but she struggled and buried her face in his shoulder. That's when Harry realized she was crying.

"Hermione?" He asked gently, and she broke into sobs. Harry was terrified, and he was confused. "Hermione, what's wrong?" But she wouldn't look at him. With growing concern, Harry took her by the arms, and led her gently back into the Gryffindor common room. He sat her on a sofa by the window and knelt in front of her. She had covered her face with her hands.

"Hermione, talk to me. Calm down and look at me." It took a few long moments, but eventually he got her to stop crying. He just sat in front of her, even though his knees had started to complain dully. He waited for her patiently.

She pulled her wand from the insides of the robes that hung on her shoulder, and conjured herself a handkerchief. Harry gave her a moment to be comfortable, and when she was done, Harry made to speak again. But she had other plans. She pulled him into another hug, which Harry returned with a confused smile.

"Miss Granger" He began, trying to keep his voice stern and humorous at the same time, "either you tell me what's wrong right now, or I'm telling Malfoy you still wet your bed." That did it.

She let out a squawk of protest, and pulling back, punched him in the arm, letting loose a cry of "Harry!" Thankfully she chose his right arm. Harry thought the expression on her face was priceless. She looked scandalized. She glared at him for a second, and Harry pretended to cower, before they burst out into soft laughter. "Prat."

They looked at each other for a moment before Harry asked, "Will you tell me what's bothering you?"

She looked down into her lap before answering softly, "Everything is, Harry." She paused to gather her thoughts. "I was so scared. You were one little wizard in the midst of four fully grown dragons, Harry. You could have..." She shuddered, as if the thought of Harry's demise was too terrible to think of.

"I felt like I would explode from the stress Harry. Everyone was cheering for you...no one seemed to care that you could have gotten hurt. I just...I don't think I could take it if anything ever happened to you." Her voice had gone so soft, that even someone as emotionally daft as Harry Potter could read the vulnerability in it. He hated seeing her so weak and he hated the fact that she worried herself sick over him. Though somewhere, he liked the fact that someone worried for him.

He pulled her face up gently by her chin to look into her eyes, fingers lingering over her soft skin. "Hey," he began as softly as the moment demanded, "I'm not going anywhere. I'm not leaving you alone Hermione, and certainly not when you didn't. You're stuck with me, Hermione Granger. Besides, if I'm not here, who's going to drag you into a hundred-rule-breaking adventure?" He waggled his eyebrows.

She laughed softly. The sound made Harry's stomach drop a little, but it was a nice feeling. Harry found himself staring at her in the early light of the breaking dawn. She took his hand in hers, and it made Harry feel silly. "I'm really proud of you, Harry...the way you handled yourself against the impossible odds. You looked so heroic...It was one of the bravest and most brilliant things I have ever seen...and that stunt you pulled with the sword? I think you might have added a few hundred girls to the 'Harry Potter Fan Club'."

Her words made Harry feel sillier, he felt himself blushing from her praise. "Did I manage to add you?"

She gave him a sly look, "Maybe. Maybe not. Were you trying to impress me, Mr Potter?"

For a moment, Harry was worried. His newly growing affection for her was a secret Harry believed she wouldn't appreciate. He replied the way she had. "Maybe. Maybe not." He smiled at her and stood up, knees aching in protest. "It depends."

"On what?"

"Do you still wet your bed or not?"

She squealed in protest, laughing and trying to hit him at the same time. "I most certainly do not!"

"Good, because I would never try to impress a fifteen year old bed-wetter."

"Harry!" she was laughing uncontrollably now. It was a highly soothing sound, very beautiful, and Harry couldn't help but compare it to the gurgling sound streams made. For some strange reason, it made Harry giddy in the knees. She rolled over in her laughter and took another swing at him. "Stop it!"

Harry dodged it.

He offered her his hand to pull her up, and his stomach jumped a bit again when she took it. "Off for a run?" She shook her head in negation, "Was going to, but then you showed up. I think I'd rather spend time with you." Harry quite liked the sound of that. "You really should give more importance to your physical stamina, Hermione. It's often the difference between life and death in a duel." He told her half-heartedly.

She grimaced, and proceeded to drag him by the hand to one of the larger couches. She pushed him down on a big soft red one, and dumped herself unceremoniously beside him. "I know," she said, leaning against his shoulder. "I just can't get around to waking up at four in the bloody morning. Besides, I doubt we'll be able to spend time together anytime soon."

He frowned. He _did not_ like the sound of that. "What do you mean?"

"You need to give press interviews, Harry. They've all been waiting for you to wake up. Dumbledore, the _Prophet_ , the French newspapers, the Bulgarian press, and all the stupid students...even Lucius Malfoy." She said the name with bitter disgust. Ever since Harry had told Hermione some of the things Lucius Malfoy had done in the service of the Dark Lord, Hermione had nothing but revulsion and hate for the sick and cruel Death Eater.

"What? Why would he- oh!" Harry then remembered Anaiah Malfoy, and with some shame, realized that he had forgotten all about her halfway through his fight with the dragons. "What happened to his daughter?" he asked Hermione.

"She fainted halfway through the Dragon's Bane. And you've got to teach me that Harry. It was the most beautiful thing I've ever heard."

"Of course," he replied, with a smile. "Do you know what happened to my Golden Egg?"

"It's with Dumbledore, Harry. I told him I wouldn't mind holding onto it for you, but he wouldn't budge. Said it was against the rules or some such nonsense."

"What else happened while I was out?"

"Well...the First Task's result was postponed, mostly owing to the fact that you and Anaiah Malfoy were quite out of it. It should be announced today during breakfast. Classes have been cancelled till the weekend...Professor McGonagall said the Headmaster had all qualified personnel investigating why the doors to the other enclosures exploded. Then, let me see...what else...yeah, Ron has been around, said he wanted to apologise."

Ron's very name had Harry itching to curse something, but Madam Pomfrey had given him a very strict warning that he wasn't to use any magic for at least two more days, or he would risk further damaging his magical core.

"What'd you tell the little Judas?" Harry asked in a voice that resembled a growl.

Hermione was surprised at Harry's sudden mood change. That surprise lasted until she learned the depth of his actions. It irked her to no end that Harry was the only champion who hadn't known about the dragons. She called Ron some very choice names, and Harry knew that was as close as she would get to swearing. They decided they were done with Ronald Weasley for the foreseeable future. And indeed, Harry confessed he would have difficulty trusting Ron again.

"What else?" Harry asked, mostly to change the topic.

She took her time to reply. "Forget field _days,_ Harry, the _Prophet's_ been having a field _week_ with your performance in the first task. Rita Skeeter wrote a rather scathing piece on Dumbledore and the ministry. If I remember correctly, her exact words were- "It seems highly irresponsible and careless of Albus Dumbledore to put the nation's native hero in such mortal peril. If it weren't for The-Boy-Who-Lived's incredible prowess in magic, and I deeply regret to say this, we would have been one champion short by the end of the First Task."

"She also called him some very rude things that I'd rather not repeat. Also, speaking of Professor Dumbledore reminds me, he's been around. Invited me to his office yesterday just before lunch. Wanted to know if I had any idea where you came upon the Dragon's Bane. I told him you are a very private person and wouldn't want me telling him anything you didn't want him to know.

"We had quite a chat, where he kept on reassuring me that he had your best interests at heart...I told him in as polite terms as I could that I couldn't honestly agree with _that_."

"Did he try his mind-reading thing?" Harry asked warily.

"No...I was slightly surprised when he didn't, but then _I did_ make sure I didn't maintain eye-contact for any period of time longer than a second. And without eye contact, he'd have had to use his wand anyway..."

"You sure?" Harry asked, not believing his luck.

She gave him a look, "Of course, Harry, I'm sure."

Harry felt incredibly grateful for having a friend like Hermione. "Thanks a lot, Hermione."

They shared a comfortable moment before Harry remembered something else. Looking around the common room once to make sure they were still alone, he said, "I've also got to let Sirius know everything. He said he wanted to meet during the next Hogsmeade trip. I...I don't want to do it alone, Hermione. You'll come, won't you?"

She let her head drop on his shoulder. "Of course, dummy. You know I will."

Harry gave her a smile. She looked up at him from his shoulder, and asked the question that Harry himself had been battling with at the back of his mind. "What will you tell Dumbledore, Harry?"

It was his turn to grimace as he thought about it. "Probably some balderdash story about learning things from the Potter family Grimoire. That should keep me safe. Its pureblood law...Or I could tell him Sirius has been helping out with old Black family magic. According to Riddle's memories, the Blacks were an ancient Pureblood family...they have to have had loads of ancient magical texts somewhere...if nothing works, I can always tell him to sod off."

Hermione snorted in response, surprising Harry. He had been expecting a speech about language and manners. Maybe Hermione was changing too. "I imagine only you could get away with telling the Headmaster of Hogwarts to sod off."

They spent the rest of the morning sitting like that, and Harry surprised Hermione when he asked her about _her._

"I...I don't understand Harry." She said.

"Tell me more about yourself...about your parents, your childhood...what was your muggle school like? What about friends? I want to know everything." He told her.

"But why?" She was confused.

"Because I'd like to know you better than I already do. You're a very special person Hermione Granger, and I'd like to know everything there is to know about you." She looked at him, surprised and stunned. She probably hadn't expected the conversation to take a turn down Hermione-land. For a moment all she could do was blush and splutter, but then she began to speak. Harry asked her countless questions, and she answered them as simply as she could, though there was some playfulness involved. They talked on and on, and Hermione shared with him her dreams, her ambitions, and even her deepest fears. Harry was listening so intently, it surprised her. But then again, Harry was full of surprises these days.

They were found like that by Fred and George Weasley, when the twins descended the staircase from the sixth year dorms. Fred spotted the fourth year Gryffindors first, and elbowed George to get his attention.

"Ah, it brings tears to my eyes, doesn't it, Forge?" began Fred, and Hermione, startled, jumped slightly.

"Why Gred, indeed it does...young love. They're so cute at that age..."

"I must admit, Forge, I never saw this coming. I always thought our Harry had the hots for a certain Malfoy."

"Indeed, the way he and Draco stare at each other, I always figured they-"

"That's enough you two," said Harry, cutting across George, making the twins burst into identical grins. Beside him, Hermione had turned a lovely shade of red.

"Come Harry, don't spoil our fun." spoke George.

"Yeah Harry, don't fun our spoil." Fred intoned.

"By the way Harry, that performance was most extraordinary-"

"Yeah Harry, I almost didn't recognize you down there. May I enquire where you came across that brilliant spell?"

Harry stared at the two for a second, and then said, "Of course you may enquire Gred, but you were having so much fun at the Lady's expense," he pointed towards Hermione, "I think I may just not answer that enquiry."

Their faces fell, and Hermione snickered, momentarily forgetting her embarrassment.

They came forward and shook hands with Harry, congratulating him. "Party at nine tonight...what say, Harry?" Fred asked.

Harry wondered about it for a moment, "Let's wait for the results, alright guys? Just don't go to any trouble for my sake."

The twins nodded in agreement, albeit somewhat reluctantly.

One by one, the Gryffindors arrived, all of them congratulating Harry, though he maintained a level of coldness while interacting with most of them. Sometime later, Harry and Hermione left the common room to head to their dorms to shower and change. Harry, who was keeping an eye out for Ron, found the redhead sitting on his bed, tying up his shoelaces, almost ready to head out. As soon as he saw Harry, he stood up hastily, and then issued the mother of all awkward silences.

Harry ignored the youngest Weasley male and proceeded to his trunk to pull out his clothes for the day. Behind him, he heard Ron clear his throat, as if he was about to say something. Having finished with his trunk, Harry gathered his clothes and headed to the showers, leaving behind a completely ignored and totally embarrassed Ronald Weasley.

Harry took a troubled shower; mind filled with all the ways he could screw the inevitable meeting with Dumbledore. He debated on his plans on handling the press. Fifteen minutes later, when Harry left the showers fully dressed except for his footwear, he found Ron standing in the same spot he had left him in. Harry did what he had decided he would do- he ignored Ron Weasley completely. Ron stood there the entire time Harry pulled on his socks and shoes, and when Harry made to leave, Ron finally spoke.

"Harry, can we talk?"

Harry turned around slowly. He looked Ron in the eyes for a moment, and then in the coldest tone he could modulate, said, "No." Harry left the room without a backwards glance. _So much for your apology, Ron Weasley._

He met Hermione in the common room by the stairs, and together they left for the Great Hall.

Breakfast was a noisy and chaotic affair. Every student, apart from the Slytherins, wanted to shake Harry's hand, or clap him on the shoulder, or just congratulate him. Harry could have dealt with all of that, but when people began to ask him the spell for the Dragon's Bane, and some Ravenclaws went as far as to demand it of him, saying it was inhuman of him to keep such precious knowledge all to himself, Harry began developing a headache. And after the last one, he had developed a serious dislike for headaches.

Many Durmstrang and Beauxbatons students came to congratulate him as well, but most of them were polite and well mannered about it. The only shining moment before breakfast was when Professor McGonagall and Filtwick came by to commend Harry on his performance in the first task. And what a glowing commendation it was! Hermione didn't stop smiling at him throughout breakfast. Then there was Cedric, who came by with his girlfriend Cho Chang. The two Hogwarts champions shook hands warmly, and Harry was surprised when the Great Hall burst into applause at the scene.

"From the looks of it Harry, I think the rest of us should probably leave while we can, with our dignity intact."

Embarrassed at Cedric's praise, Harry ran a hand through his hair and replied, "Don't be silly Cedric. I cast a total of five spells, and woke up in the Hospital Wing three days later. The way I see it, I've got a lot of catching up to do." They chatted for a bit, before Victor Krum and Finnick Wurdy stopped by. Harry saw Ron looking at the four of them like a lost puppy. Harry smirked at the redhead.

"Harry Potter." Krum said his name like a statement. Harry replied with a slow nod, and a simple, "Victor." He then turned his head in Wurdy's direction, "Wurdy." They both nodded back at him. Cedric introduced himself and Cho, and Harry suddenly remembered Hermione. It was a spontaneous thing, but a part of Harry wanted to invite Hermione in everything he did. A part of him wanted to impress her with everything he did. He turned to look at the witch only to find her looking right back at him. He gave her a smile, and with a jerk of his head, motioned her to join him.

In response, her jaw dropped slightly, and then she started shaking her head vehemently. But Harry wasn't listening. He took her by the hand, and pulled her up. By now, the rest of the gathered champions had begun staring at the two of them. "Everyone, this lovely lady is Hermione Granger, my best friend and the smartest witch of my class. Hermione, this is...well, you already know who's who."

Cedric and Cho were rather warm in welcoming her, and Victor and Wurdy nodded at her and gave a polite, "Hello".

Krum turned his head back in Harry's direction, looking him straight in the eyes. "Harry Potter, you fight well, it will be pleasure to compete against you. When you were selected, I thought of you as nuisance, but now I will be looking forward to the other tasks." His English was heavily accented, and Harry could tell he wasn't comfortable speaking it. Finnick just nodded at him. Harry could tell he wasn't much of a speaker.

"Indeed Harry Potter, you have proved that even when the odds are against you, you will not fade." Her melodious voice grabbed everyone's attention faster that a roaring Himalayan Deathtooth, and Fleur Delacour herself did it faster than ten of them. She was walking towards them from the Ravenclaw table, and drawing so many stares, Harry wondered if people were going to finish their breakfast anytime soon. Harry felt a little nervous around her, mostly because he didn't want to be reduced to a drooling chimpanzee. He met her eyes though, and Hermione suddenly took his palm in a tight grip. Her brilliant blue eyes bored right back into his emerald ones. Behind the French beauty, Harry spotted the _other_ French beauty. She looked as proud and distinguished as Fleur, and Harry thought if their facial features hadn't been different, they could have passed for twins.

They joined the rough uneven circle, and Harry saw the entire Great Hall staring at them like they were pieces of meat. Even the teachers were looking at them, though Harry thought he saw McGonagall, Sprout, Filtwick, and Dumbledore smiling at him. Hagrid _definitely_ looked like Christmas had come early, while Snape was ignoring them steadfastly. Alastor Moody seemed nowhere in sight. "I believe I owe you an apology Mr Potter," Fleur spoke again, and Harry was really surprised to hear her voice laced with only a tiny bit of French accent, quite unlike the last time when he had heard her speak, "I was quite rude and uncivil that night in the chamber. No little boy could have done what you did, and I'm glad I was around to witness such ancient and beautiful magic. I must say, you do know how to make people eat their words."

Harry felt slightly warm, but mostly Harry felt embarrassed. Before he could say anything, Anaiah Malfoy spoke up. It was the first time Harry had heard her speak without screaming in terror, and he was surprised that she spoke English as well as him. "And I think I owe you my gratitude and my life Mr Potter. I...I just don't know how to thank you. I must confess, I have a terrible phobia of dragons...a little incident in my childhood has left me mortally afraid of the beasts. Even in the task, I just managed to get the egg. Without your help in the pit, I would be dead."

Harry decided that was enough. "I assure you Miss Malfoy... I did what any self-respecting wizard would have done. You don't have to thank me. You owe me nothing."

All Harry got in return was strange looks from the French witches, and grunts of approval from the Bulgarians.

Hermione gave his hand a slight tug. "Don't mind him, please." She said suddenly, "Harry's terrible at accepting praise."

"Of course Miss Granger." Said Anaiah Malfoy, smiling at Hermione, "But I must insist, Mr Potter. I was made aware by my father that you know of him. He's away for some urgent business at the ministry, and until he arrives, I'd like to get to know you better. Would it be alright if I spend the day with you and Miss Granger?"

That set Harry on red alert. He was very well aware, thanks to Lord Voldemort, of exactly what Lucius Malfoy's business at the ministry was, and he didn't want any part of the Malfoy family to be associated with him. Who knew if it wasn't the Malfoys who had entered his name in the tournament on the Dark Lord's orders? But here was the dilemma- he couldn't very well deny Anaiah Malfoy's seemingly innocent request in front of all the other champions without coming across as extremely insolent and rude. Knowing the Malfoy males, Harry was sure Anaiah Malfoy had some ulterior motive.

He chanced a glance at Hermione, who had suspicion written clear on her face for everyone to read. "Well, um...I really don't know about that...I doubt you'll find us interesting. Besides, I deeply regret to say this, but, um...er...well your father and brother aren't particularly fond of me, or Hermione for that matter-"

The smile on the French champion's face faltered for only a second before cut across Harry, "Oh what utter silliness! Mr Potter, I do hope you won't let Draco's immature behaviour get in the way of what I am sure will be a beautiful friendship. Please, do not mind him; he has a lot of growing up to do."

Harry stayed silent for a moment, trying to come up with an answer that wouldn't make him look like a total jerk in front of everyone. He didn't fail to notice the way Anaiah Malfoy completely and carefully avoided any talk of her father's opinion of him. He decided he would just say no. He couldn't let his social reputation get in the way of his survival. But sadly, Harry never got to express his views on the matter- Hermione spoke up on his behalf. "In that case, Miss Malfoy, why don't you sit with us for breakfast? I do hope we can all be good friends."

The genuine smile that graced Anaiah Malfoy's face surprised Harry. It did seem innocent. He sot Hermione a look, to let her know they were going to talk about this later. Right then, however, Harry had to focus on Anaiah Malfoy.

"Would you like to join us, Miss Delacour?" Hermione asked Fleur.

Harry thought Fleur was going to refuse. She _had_ been acting quite friendly this morning, again quite unlike of what Harry remembered her from last the last times. She waited for a moment, as if giving some thought to the question, and then surprised Harry again. "I think I'd like that."

Hermione smiled at the two witches, but Harry knew her well enough to know that she wasn't as happy with the entire situation as she looked. Cedric and Cho excused themselves, and Krum explained he and Wurdy had already had their breakfast, and were going to just wait for the results at the Slytherin tables. Harry certainly didn't want to be stared at anymore than what he knew was already going to happen, so he didn't try to convince the Bulgarians otherwise.

Once they'd left, Harry waited for the witches to sit before sitting down beside Hermione, across from the Beauxbatons witches, and proceeded to serve himself. They made small talk for some time, before the conversation turned to schoolwork. Anaiah happened to mention a Runic theory developed during the fifteenth century that if applied to dragon ward-bones created an effect similar to that of the Dragon's Bane, but to a much lesser extent, and without the haunting melody, and that set Hermione off, who, as fate would have it, had only recently read about the theory. Right before Harry's eyes, the two witches went from awkward acquaintances to excited friends as they launched into Arthimanical-Mechanics and NEWT level warding. Though Harry understood most of what was said, owing partially to Tom's memories, and partially to his own fervent interest in the subject, his mind really wasn't in it. He was slightly nervous about the results, and slightly wary of every Malfoy on the planet. He zoned out during of it, instead preferring to glare at the Gryffindors who wouldn't stop staring. He saw Fred and George pass him huge grins and winks, the latter of which he returned, and Ron giving him a sour look, which he ignored, much to the redhead's consternation.

When he looked at Fleur, he found the blonde witch staring at him, and when their eyes met, she flicked her eyes towards their feverishly chatting companions, rolled her eyes, and passed him a smile. Harry, slightly surprised at her friendliness, smiled back.

"Alright you two," she finally said when Hermione and Anaiah wouldn't stop their discussion, "I think Harry and I have had enough of your boring chatter. Would you rather mind talking about something that we normal people might find of some remote interest?"

Realizing that she had been ignoring Harry and Fleur completely, Hermione blushed lightly, before ducking her head down, while Anaiah snorted, and said something in rapid fluent French to Fleur, who quipped back an equally foreign reply. Before any of them could say anything further, Harry heard the Hall going silent, and a sharp tinkling sound from the direction of the staff table.

"If I could have your attention, my dear students?" Dumbledore spoke in his clear, collected voice, putting down the crystal goblet and golden spoon he'd been holding, and all heads turned collectively in his direction. Harry was surprised to see that Crouch, Bagman and another ministry official whom Harry didn't recognize had joined the staff table. "It has been said so very rightly, I believe, that true victory is not in standing first, but in having given the opportunity all that you can, regardless of where it leaves you standing. I must say, when I sat at the judges' panel, I had not imagined in the least, that the task would have been so difficult. Even now, having had considerable time to think over it, I find myself of two minds about most of the affair.

"All the champions performed marvellously, and though it pains me to admit that there was some interference in the task...well, I can only pray, that may we all, never fall prey to the schemes of the wicked. I must confess my own faults and mistakes, as the _Prophet_ has been very kind in pointing them out." Here, Dumbledore paused for a moment, and then a very _innocent_ expression appeared over his wrinkled face. "However there was this one rather scandalous story I heard two of our own Hufflepuffs discussing, about a brunette mermaid and I, and I believe I must explain what happened all those decades ago. You see, it was like this- I came across the pretty little thing-" Dumbledore's most interesting story, much to the disappointment of the entire population of the Great Hall, was interrupted by a rather loud cough from Minerva McGonagall at the staff table, and Harry wondered if it sounded so alike "Albus!" on purpose.

Dumbledore took a glance back at McGonagall, and then turned to face his audience, most of who were hiding smiles and suppressing giggles. "Ah well, a story for some other time, where was I? Yes, yes...the champions. I believe we, the judges, should finally announce the highly anticipated results of the First task. Ludo, if you would..." He gave the great Hall one last smile, winked rather conspiratorially, and sat down in his high backed throne-ish chair. Ludo Bagman jumped up at the opportunity, pushing back his chair to stand, and coming around the table to the centre.

He gave the assembly a smile before beginning. "Hello dear students...and a special _Hello_ to our champions, of course. May I just say add here, that the First task was such a phenomenal success, that the general interest in the tournament has been raised by tenfold! Yes, that's what you heard! Ten times! And also-" Hermione leaned back slightly to speak in Harry's ear, "That's so insensitive of him! Everyone knows why there has been a spike in public interest in the Tri-wizard Tournament, and it's certainly not because of their safety measures."

"-task was initiated by Mr Finnick Wurdy of Durmstrang, who faced a particularly nasty variety of the Algerian Longneck dragon. My Wurdy used an extremely modified version of the highly advanced ' _Visctus Worworia'_ spell, causing the dragon to be surrounded in a black mist, which had the highly potent scent of a male Australian Firetail dragon, which as we all know, is amongst the three dragon breeds, that will consume other dragons for food, laced in it. The Firetail is also the largest dragon known to us, and it's very peculiar sulphurous smell is quite intimidating to other dragons. Quite cunning, I must say. However, the dragon became a little too intimidated at the apparent presence of another dragon, and in its haste to break free it stepped on three of its own eggs. Mr Wurdy then used six various sleeping charms. In the end, he had to use an eastern sleeping spell, which knocked out the dragon for the next twenty-eight hours. Our friends in the dragon handling Department were most unpleased, Mr Wurdy. I did hear one or two of them complain in a rather sailor like manner about moving a sixteen tonne dragon. Now, for Mr Wurdy's results...Judges, if you would be kind enough?"

One by one, the five judges raised their wands, and out shot dark blue ribbons, which then twirled and twisted upon themselves to form numbers. The first was Karkaroff, who gave Wurdy an eight, followed by Madam Maxime, who gave him a seven. Dumbledore and Crouch too, produced twin 'sevens' one by one, and lastly, Ludo Bagman gave the Bulgarian another eight. "A thirty seven! Not bad at all! Mr Finnick Wurdy, of Durmstrang everyone!"

Wurdy stood up to receive the applause though he looked a bit surlier than usual to Harry.

And so it went, one by one, Ludo Bagman explained the methods used by the various champions to tackle their dragons, and then the judges awarded the points. Fleur, who had been the next champion to enter the pit, had conjured an entire horde of some small, mostly large animals, one by one. Once she had had collected enough of them, she had sent them to their deaths. While the Chinese Fireball had been busy slaughtering the smaller ones, and being tickled by bear attacks, Fleur had conjured a rather long rope, disillusioned it, and then charmed its one end to crawl into the dragon's nest and wrap itself around the golden egg. The last part had been tricky, and it had taken her three tries to tie the rope around the egg securely. The rest of it had been a simple rope-coiling household charm. Maxime, Crouch and Dumbledore awarded her nine-points, Karkaroff an eight, while Ludo Bagman gave her a slightly dazed and overly enthusiastic ten. In fact, his ribbons shredded themselves into tiny petals halfway through their exhibition, which then mysteriously floated towards the Gryffindor table, though Harry could swear he had seen Bagman's wand twitch slightly. Altogether, she looked quite happy with her 'forty five' and gave Harry a warm smile when he congratulated her.

Victor Krum had played to his strengths, and summoned his Firebolt from the Durmstrang ship. He had flown round and round the Swedish Shortsnout he had been paired with, simultaneously casting powerful hardening spells at the dragon. It had resulted in the dragon getting clumsier slowly and slowly, as its armour hardened too much for it to move agilely. Harry thought it was a brilliant and novel way to tackle the problem, and wondered if the idea of summoning a broom would have occurred to him if he had known about the task beforehand. _Probably not,_ he thought. Karkaroff gave Krum a ten, while the rest of the judges gave him a nine. Krum didn't give any visible reaction of joy at his forty-six, but Harry was expecting him not to.

Anaiah Malfoy hadn't fared as well as her contemporary champions. She had been paired with the African Verula, and though the dragon could not breathe fire, it was known for its vicious aggressiveness. Anaiah had tried using Fleur's tactic at first, but the animals had proved no match for the Verula, who had promptly eaten half of them in one bite, owing to its exceptionally wide mouth. Then she had hit the dragon with the rarely known ' _Speculis in aerem'_ jinx, which used a twenty-two second long casting pattern and caused its victim to see mirror like reflecting surfaces over every flat surface. Ludo Bagman hadn't known the incantation, and had called upon Anaiah to describe the effects of her spell, but from the small smile that graced Dumbledore's face, which Harry had been watching at the moment, Harry gathered Voldemort wasn't the only one who knew it. The dragon had been startled by its vision going wonky so suddenly, and after running blindly into things (luckily for her not into the eggs), had by use of overpowered bludgeoning hexes been steered back into its den. Harry thought she had done really well for someone who claimed to be mortally afraid of dragons. She received a six from Karkaroff, and seven from Dumbledore, Crouch and Bagman, and finally an eight from Maxime. She had given Harry and Hermione a small smile when they had congratulated her.

Cedric, the penultimate contender of the First task, had faced the Hungarian Horntail. He had used a half-transfiguration to convert a large boulder into an African lioness. The result had been a stone statue that looked like a very real and larger-than-normal lioness. He had spent a few moments casting unbreakable and strengthening charms on it, and then sent it to battle with the dragon. Cedric's transfiguration had been exceptional, for while heavy and made of stone, the lioness had been quite agile, though not as agile as a real one. Cedric's next move had been to attack the dragon with the generally used, and sadly in this case mostly ineffective, lightning spells. These basic spell caused thin electric bolts, usually seven to nine metres in length, to shoot out of the castor's wand. The only thing it had done was steer the dragon away from the nest. Then Cedric had pulled his ace. The half-transfiguration he had attempted had been a time-delayed double transfiguration spell, something so difficult and complex, that upon hearing it, Hermione and Anaiah and most of the Ravenclaw table had let out quite audible gasps, and Madam Maxime had started applauding Cedric. Harry had to revise his collection of Tom's memories to completely understand the complexity of what Cedric had done. Cedric had transfigured the boulder into a lioness-statue, and when he had began his assault on the dragon, on a simple verbal command of 'Fetch!' from him, the statue had completed its transfiguration from stone to organic, and had turned into a huge very real lioness, which had bolted straight for the nest. Using her large mouth, the lioness had gathered the egg and rushed in Cedric's direction. The dragon, upon realizing what was happening, had let loose a huge burst of incredibly hot dragon-fire at the animal, melting most of its hind-quarters. Fortunately, when the lioness collapsed, her momentum had transferred to the cargo in her jaws, and the egg had rolled safely out of the dragon's firing range. Cedric received ten points from both Dumbledore and Maxime, who had been Professors of Transfiguration in their younger days. In fact, Madam Maxime was known to provide extra help to the students who asked for it in her favourite subject. Karkaroff, Bagman and Crouch gave Cedric 'nines'. Cedric's forty-seven received the loudest applause, which continued for a long time.

And then the Hall fell silent. Harry realized his turn had come. One by one, the students turned, fixing Harry with their stares, and some started whispering amongst themselves, generally making him feel very uncomfortable. At first, Harry wanted nothing more than to get out of there, but then he remembered the decision he had made during the First task- the sacrifice he had made. He'd given up the normal life he had always wanted, given up trying to be 'just-Harry', because the world needed something more. The world needed Harry-fucking-Potter. The world needed a knight in battered armour, whose metal had been tested time and time again by hate and darkness. The world needed someone willing to dive into the dirt so it could stay clean.

The world did not need a gust of fresh air. It needed a storm descending from the heavens to annihilate, so that the process of rebirth could begin again. The world did not need light. The world needed fire. And if the fire had to consume a fifteen year old boy, then Harry decided his fire would burn for centuries.

His mind was made, his choices chosen. Without realizing it, his back straightened, and his eyes regained the same fire that had lit them up from within when he had stood alone against the dragons. He took Hermione's hand over the table, she turned back to look at him, surprised, unused to him initiating physical contact. She smiled. He returned it. Then she stared at him. Before Harry could comment on it, Bagman began.

"And now, ladies and gentlemen, witches and wizards," his voice was as serious as Harry had ever heard it, "now we come to that part of the First task which shall remain etched in my memory for as long as I remain on this earth. I won't deny, as shouldn't most of you, that when Mr Potter was selected by the Goblet of Fire, I had my doubts, and they were bigger than the castle I now stand in. When we were made aware, that it was an attempt at the life of young Mr Potter, I thought- maybe.

"And then I saw him, so young and innocent, walking towards the Himalayan Deathtooth, and for those of us who don't do our homework, allow me to tell you, the Himalayan Deathtooth is the most poisonous dragon breed known to wizards. All I could think was, man, this boy's in trouble. He looked lost, but he certainly didn't look afraid. And then the enclosures started falling like houses of cards. And I realized the gravity of the situation Mr Potter was in. If you weren't counting, I was. Harry Potter cast five times throughout the duration of his time in the pit, and he managed to defeat four fully grown dragons. He used two post NEWT level spells known as the ' _Ventus Oaxim'_ and the ' _Stupefy Maximus'_. He also used a spell I have only heard in fables and tales. He used the Dragon's Bane. And, to top it all, he conquered a dragon by use of Parseltongue alone. Suffice it is to say about Mr Potter's performance in the arena, that he faced insurmountable odds, and he faced them like a man. He saved the life of another in a battle where most couldn't have saved their own, and I think that tells me all I need to know about the type of person Harry Potter is, and the kind of man Harry Potter will become. My fellow judges, if you will..."

It began with Karkaroff, who surprised everyone with a ten. From there, it was like a line of dominoes, as each judge raised their wand and gave Harry a ten. But the biggest surprise was Dumbledore, who gave Harry an eight. "What's he playing at?" Hermione leaned back and hissed in Harry's ear.

"Hell if I know..." Harry grumbled. "He probably took points for the stupid Verula."

"Witches and Wizards, we have the winner of the First task of the now Eptan-Wizard tournament of Nineteen ninety four, Harry Potter, in lead with forty-eight points." And the Hall burst into wild roaring applause. Harry stood, and smiled as best as he could. He glanced towards the staff table; Dumbledore was smiling warmly at him. McGonagall looked proud of him, and Harry thought that ought to count for something. Snape looked like he might throw up, an expression shared by a very pale faced Draco Malfoy, who was also glaring at Harry and his sister Anaiah with unmasked hate and suspicion. Hagrid was clapping so hard, Harry could hear it above all the noise. When he saw Harry looking, he winked at Harry, before beaming at the green-eyed wizard.

Beside him, from across the table, Anaiah Malfoy and Fleur Delacour leaned in to congratulate him as he sat down. Hermione turned and gave him a short hug, and Neville, who had been sitting two seats behind Harry, shouted his own congratulations at Harry.

For a moment, Harry felt he could get used to it, then Colin's camera flash went off in his face, and he cursed himself for thinking he ever would.

For the next four hours till lunch, Harry fielded questions from various students of all shapes and sizes, and received congratulations from just as many. Fred and George made quite a show of proclaiming him as the winner of the Eptan-Wizard tournament itself, and Harry couldn't stop himself at laughing heartily at some of their antics. The rest of the school did what it always did- stand in the sidelines, and then point and whisper and stare. If Harry thought Anaiah Malfoy's constant presence by his side was enough reason to comment and spread rumours, he didn't say anything.

If Harry had to be honest, he did enjoy being in the company of two beautiful witches. And Anaiah Malfoy was quite intriguing in her own ways. She was very similar to Hermione in her behaviour and preferences, but a bit more confident and extrovert than the Gryffindor girl. She had also, much to Harry's irritation and worry, been trying to get him alone. Harry refused to leave Hermione's side.

And so the three of them traversed the grounds, walked the edge of the forest, sat by the shore of the Black Lake, and visited the kitchens to pass their day. They talked of their respective schools, the courses, and sometimes Anaiah and Hermione got into discussions too hardcore for Harry to follow, even though he gave it his best non-Dementia effort. They visited Hagrid before lunch, politely declining his offer for tea and rock cakes. Hagrid had been a bit surprised to see Harry and Hermione walking around with Anaiah Malfoy, but had taken it all in stride.

Harry himself was quite surprised by Anaiah Malfoy, who seemed quite the opposite of her brother and father. In fact, Harry had been amazed how different the siblings were. He had a sneaking suspicion that Anaiah Malfoy wasn't as fond of her brother as everyone Harry thought she should have been. So busy he was thinking about the polar opposite brother and sister that he didn't see Draco Malfoy approach until he was upon them.

"Oi, Potter! What do you think you are doing with my sister? And sullying her with the Mudblood's presence!" He turned towards his sister, "Anaiah, you should know better. Come with me, I'll introduce you to someone of better rank in the Wizarding world."

Harry gritted his teeth, and was about to give Draco a very scathing reply, when Anaiah spoke, "Hello, _little_ brother. Didn't really see you standing there until it started reeking of stupidity. Go on then, be a good boy and run along..."

Draco snarled, "Don't be stupid Anaiah, when father hears of this, he'll b-"

"Thank you very much, Draco, for your concern. I think I'm perfectly aware of how father would respond to me making new friends. And if I hear that word from your mouth again, I'll tell Harry here about that not-so-little incident with the not-so-little bludger you had this year when we were home... Do I make myself clear, Draco?"

Draco's face reddened, though Harry couldn't say if it was from anger or embarrassment. Draco snarled again and said, "This isn't over, sister. And you," he turned to Harry, "you better behave yourself around her, filth. If I catch wind of you trying anything even remotely funny, I'll-"

Harry had had enough. "Move along Draco. I've had my share of stupidity for the week, thank you."

And before Draco could respond to that, Harry took Hermione by the elbow, and walked away in the direction of the castle, leaving Anaiah Malfoy to rush after him. They entered the castle at a brisk pace, and along the way, once she had apologized on Draco's behalf to Harry and Hermione, Anaiah got into another academic conversation with Hermione. Harry paid little mind to their chatter, instead choosing to think about his lack of progress with Occlumency. And as if on cue, he ran into Dumbledore.

"I'm sorry Professor, I wasn't paying attention," he said, his mind digging around for a way to avoid the confrontation.

Dumbledore smiled at him, eyes twinkling, and looked at him over the half moon spectacles perched on his nose. "That's quite alright Mr Potter. Providence, it seems, is a kind mistress, for I was looking for you Mr Potter. I was wondering if you would mind accompanying me to my office for a while. I believe there is much we need to discuss about your unfortunate role in the tournament."

Harry looked at the Headmaster, who was studying Anaiah Malfoy quite subtly, for a quiet moment. He looked to Hermione, who sighed and nodded at him. And Harry knew it was time.

"Not at all, Professor Dumbledore, though I was wondering if Hermione's presence would be a bother to you..." He gave the headmaster a meaningful look, and found hum looking at him with a strange look on his face.

"I don't see why it would bother anyone, Harry, a student as bright and wonderful as Miss Granger is a joy to behold. If you would follow me, then?"

Harry nodded, and turned to Anaiah, who had been watching the whole seen with great interest. "I believe I must excuse myself and Hermione for a few moments Miss Malfoy...perhaps you wouldn't mind meeting us this evening after the interviews?"

She looked at him for a second, before replying, "Of course Harry. Hermione. I'll see you two around."

She gave them all a smile, then turned around and left for the carriages of the Beauxbatons contingent.

Dumbledore's office, as always, was full of murmuring portraits, and the strangest silver instruments that would twinkle and smoke without rhyme or reason. Behind the Headmaster's desk, and to the left, stood a golden perch, on which perched a fully grown Fawkes. As the two Gryffindors followed the Headmaster into the room, the phoenix let out a soft musical trill in greeting.

"Hello Fawkes," said Harry to the bird. Fawkes studied Harry like he was something to eat, and Harry felt himself becoming slightly nervous. He turned to watch Dumbledore take his seat behind the desk. Dumbledore gestured at the two teens to take a seat, and then leaned back into his chair, arms folded over his stomach.

"That was quite a show you put on in the First task, Harry, and I consider myself quite impressed. Though I am also quite sorry you had to put it on in the first place. For the moment, I am glad you are as safe and sound as the moment allows you to be."

Harry took a deep breath, sharing a look with Hermione. "Did you find anything- I mean, about how the dragons got in?"

Dumbledore sighed, pulling open his drawer and offering them lemon drops before replying, "We found minute traces of a very old, and quite rare paste of acromantula blood and demon liver soaked in unicorn bile, used by the ancient Chinese mages as an explosive, around the enclosures. There are some other ingredients, but that's not important. It was a spell-integrated paste Harry, and Spell-integrated Potions is an art so complicated and difficult to learn, that as of today, there are barely a handful of people known to be outside of Lord Voldemort's influence, who could do it. Nevertheless, that was as far as we got. Professor McGonagall is trying to owl some old contacts, but I wouldn't hold out much hope."

Harry gave a single slow bob of his head. "Can I safely assume that you brought me here to talk about the Dragon's Bane then?"

Dumbledore stared at Harry for a moment, and then looked at Hermione. "Among other things, but yes I'd like to know where you came across a spell as old as that. I would also like to know how you knew the ' _Ventus Oaxim'_ and the ' _Incuri_ _Stupefy Maximus'_. I would also appreciate it if you would explain to me why you killed the Verula when you could have walked away just as easily."

Harry's reply surprised Dumbledore enough to raise his eyebrows. "I'm afraid I can't tell you about the spell work, Professor. Though I wouldn't mind telling you why I killed the dragon."

Beside him, Hermione tensed slightly. Dumbledore regarded Harry silently. "And why indeed, Harry, can you not tell me about the spells?"

"I can't tell you because it comes from my family _Grimoire_." Harry stated.

"I am left wondering, Harry, why you would choose to lie to me, when I know for a fact that the Potter family Grimoire is in the main Potter vault at Gringotts, and unless you reach majority Harry, it can't be accessed by any living soul."

 _Shit! Busted!_ Harry wondered what to say next. Maybe he could drag Sirius into it. "What I meant, Headmaster, was that it came from my extended family. Think Godfather." Harry whispered the last part.

"Oh, really, now Harry, there's no need to lie to me. I was under the impression that I have never given you a reason to not trust me."

 _Not given me a reason?_ Harry seethed. _Why you senile bastard!_ His grip on the arm of his chair tightened, knuckles turning white, eyebrows dipping into a furious scowl.

"Excuse me, Professor Dumbledore, but I find myself intrigued by the fact that you would know the exact location of the Potter family Grimoire, even though you aren't related to the Potters." Harry realised Hermione had a point. He watched the headmaster carefully; looking for anything that would give away what the headmaster was thinking. He found nothing.

"Towards the end of their years, your parents and I developed a good friendship Harry, and when your parents went into hiding, they let me know where most of their prized possessions were." He paused for a moment, before continuing, "I am deeply saddened to see this sudden mistrust in me, Harry. May I ask what I've done to earn it?"

Harry had started to see red now. How dare the meddling fool pretend to be so innocent, after all he had done? Before he knew it, he had stood up. Hermione gasped and took his hand, telling him to calm down and sit down. Dumbledore looked on at the entire scene with great interest.

"You dare pretend?" Harry was almost yelling now. "You dare act like you are innocent, when you are the reason I have lived in a cupboard under the stairs for the first decade of my life?"

 _That_ got the headmaster's attention. He looked, in every sense of the word, shocked. He stared at Harry like he had spouted two heads. Hermione, knowing how difficult this was for her friend, put a gentle hand on Harry's back, rubbing it slowly. Harry turned to give her a quick grateful smile, before turning around to face the headmaster again.

Dumbledore looked from one teen to the other, his mind racing a million miles an hour. "I must...I-I must say Harry, this is news to me...I assume you speak of ...you speak of your Aunt and Uncle?"

Harry didn't reply in any way, choosing to glare furiously at the elderly wizard. It seemed to be confrontation enough for him. "Merlin! I- I assure you Harry..." the Headmaster, much to Harry's dismay, seemed to have deflated. Gone was the wizard's look of power and control, he now looked an old and withered muggle, whom the ravages of time had well and truly fucked.

Harry found a spot inside him was slightly saddened to see the Headmaster like this.

They stayed like that in tense silence. The Headmaster, shocked beyond words, slumped in his chair, looking like someone very close to him had died, Hermione, doing her best to support Harry silently, and Harry, standing in front of the Headmaster's desk, stone still like a crouching tiger, waiting for the tiniest sign of weakness.

"The letter from Hogwarts had that same address, Professor. How could you not have known? And if you did, how could you have ignored it?

"I've been beaten and starved. I've been trodden on and left to nurse my wounds in the dark. They would have burned the heart out of me, and thrown me back into the darkness of my purgatory, if not for the promise of a free slave. Come to think of it, I've seen more darkness than light, Professor Dumbledore. And when you are left alone in the dark for so long, your mind can go to much, much darker places than any that exist in the realm of morals and nobility. I've made wishes in that dark, headmaster, wishes that I am too ashamed to even think about now. I've lived a life not worth living, and I'm well aware of who put me in that life. The question I now ask myself is why. If you had as good a relationship with my parents as you claim you had, then how could you not have known about my aunt's hate for anything remotely extraordinary?"

The headmaster stayed silent, apparently still too shocked for words. Slowly, as if in a daze, he stood up, pushing his chair back with a rough screech, and walked away from the desk. Harry watched him like a hawk, wondering what he was up to. As he watched Dumbledore's face, horror filled his heart. The old man's eyes had filled up with tears, and even as he watched transfixed, they tumbled out in big fat drops. Harry staggered back at the sight, his facade of ferocity and rage broken.

"Headmaster?" Hermione whispered, now standing up beside Harry. "Are you..."

The silence stretched into awkwardness, but the headmaster did not speak, choosing to stare at Fawkes, tears flowing from his blue eyes relentlessly. It was Harry who broke the ice, speaking in a much softer and gentler tone than before, "Professor Dumbledore...Say something."

"I don't know what to say, Harry. I...I've never been proved so wrong in all my years...I just don't know what to say..."

Harry stayed silent, not knowing what to say. He had been expecting a self-righteous old man, determined to be a puppet master, determined to do what he thought was right for the 'Greater good'. Harry had been expecting, been wanting someone to rage against, someone to blame, instead he had found this- an old man crying over the mistakes he had made.

Suddenly, startling Harry, the headmaster wiped his tears away, and then turned to Harry and Hermione. "I know I have wronged you so much, so terribly, that I cannot hope to beg you your forgiveness, even though I would dare to. Professor McGonagall was with me that night, you see, she had been watching your relatives for me, and she warned me of their nature, she told me I was making a mistake. But I was too blind, too foolish to expect goodness from others, I thought..." the Headmaster zoned out again for a moment, before shaking himself slightly and continuing, "I've consider this the gravest mistake of my life, Harry, and I must confess...I've made many mistakes, some that even cost me my family."

Silence again. Harry felt his anger leaving him, leaving behind a strange emptiness. He chanced a glance at Hermione, who seemed to be staring at the headmaster, eyes slightly wet. He took her hand, and when her brown eyes met his, he gave her a reassuring smile. She leaned in for a hug, and he put an arm around her.

"I think I know now, why you would hide things from me...and rest assured, my own thirst for knowledge...and my curiosity can remain unquenched. You're free-"

"Is that why you want it, because you must know everything?" Harry cut across the headmaster, his voice even. "Because the great Albus Dumbledore must know everything! Because you must know, but never share? Because you must learn, but not teach? You're quite a hypocrite headmaster, for wanting me to share my knowledge with you, when you won't even tell me the prophecy." There, he said it. He didn't know why, but he felt the pressure of hiding things from Dumbledore would only make concentrating on other things difficult. Other things that were important, and would save his life any day.

Hermione gasped, turning around under his arm to look at him, shocked. She hadn't been expecting Harry to blow his own cover. The Headmaster drew in a sudden sharp breath, eyes wide, and the twinkle from his eyes long gone. He gaped at Harry for quite a few moments. Silence reigned in the headmaster's office _yet again_ , and Hermione began to feel really out of place.

When the headmaster spoke, Harry was worried to note his voice was harsh, without any signs of its owner's age. "Where did you learn of it? What have you been hiding-" What the headmaster had been about to say, Harry would never know, for his sails lost their winds midway through his speech. He quietened down, and looked around his office for some time, before facing Harry again. "I don't suppose you would bother telling me where you learned of it?" Harry chose silence as his answer again. "And from the way you have been handling yourself since you entered the office, I believe you know the importance of the knowledge you hold. Am I correct in assuming that Miss Granger is fully aware of all you know?"

Harry mistook the Headmaster's interest in Hermione for an attempt to find someplace to breach. "Don't you dare try to enter her mind! Her Occlumency shields are much better than mine!" He snarled.

Dumbledore looked taken aback. "I assure you Harry, I wasn't going to. Though where you would get the idea that I would violate the most intimate privacy of my own students is beyond me. Regardless of the mistakes I have made concerning you, Harry, I promise you, I am not the bad guy.

"At the same time, I am pleased to know that you understand the gravity of the prophecy. Should it fall into the wrong hands-"

"The Dark Lord already knows the entire thing." Harry declared, and rushed forward to catch the headmaster by the arm when the old wizard staggered. But the headmaster had already straightened. He grasped his chair and collapsed into it without preamble. "How...how did he know...and how do you know..."

"The Ministry had a leak in the Department of Mysteries, headmaster. I presume you know Augustus Rookwood? He was Voldemort's man...as far as I know, he still is. He snuck Voldemort into the hall of prophecies all those years ago, and since the prophecy was made about him too, he was free to take the blasted thing."

"And...And how would you know of this?" Dumbledore enquired.

"That's irrelevant." Harry replied shortly.

"Oh? Very well, I shall trust you on the accuracy of your source. Your revelation complicates matters greatly, not to mention the extra danger it puts you in."

Harry looked into Dumbledore's eyes for a few moments, his own blazing with sincerity. "He's coming back."

Two steps away from him, Hermione gasped, again, and Dumbledore drew in a sharp breath again. He was looking at Harry with something akin to horror in his eyes. "What do you mean?"

"I don't know," said Harry, "I've got this really strong feeling, this constant sense of doom...that the Dark Lord is coming back soon. He's about to return, Professor. I can't prove it, but...it's just a feeling I have deep down inside."

Dumbledore looked pensive, and Harry wondered if he was alright. "Very well, Harry. Although, there's nothing we can do now, I'd like it if you would be a bit more careful around the castle. Keep your eyes open- that sort of thing."

Harry nodded at him, and prepared to leave. He gestured to Hermione, who cast a concerned look at the Headmaster before hurrying to Harry's side. "If that's all Professor, I think I have a lunch to attend."

Dumbledore nodded, and Harry made to leave. Just as he was about to open the door to the eagle staircase, he heard the headmaster speak again. "You never told me why you killed the dragon."

Harry turned around, one hand still on the doorknob, Hermione close behind him. "You see headmaster, Voldemort sent me a message...that by making me participate in the tournament, he can mess around with my life. By killing the dragon, I sent him a message back...that he can try, and he can expect only to fail."

Nodding one last time to the Headmaster, Harry opened the door, allowing Hermione to exit first, before following her out of the silent office.


	5. Not just Cheese and Lemons

All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Thankyou everyone for the wonderful reviews. They're great encouragement, and it makes the experience of writing worth it.

This chapter reveals the story of Anaiah Malfoy.

* * *

Leaving the headmaster's office, Harry wondered if he had done the right thing, momentarily wondering if he'd been too harsh, before remembering life with the Dursleys. Beside him, Hermione remained silent, and Harry thanked his fates again, for having someone as supportive as her for a friend. They walked together to the Great Hall in silence, none of them uncomfortable with it. Harry had often wondered when their friendship had reached the point where words didn't matter, where they didn't need to speak to understand each other. Lately, he had begun to cherish the relationship he had with Hermione, knowing that what they had was rare.

They had barely entered the Great Hall when they were spotted by Anaiah Malfoy, and as the bubbly French made her way towards them, Harry groaned on the inside. Sure, he didn't mind hanging around people, but after a conversation as emotionally and mentally exhausting as the one he had just had with Dumbledore, he doubted he could resist a headache if he had to be on his toes. He didn't trust Anaiah Malfoy, and Harry wasn't comfortable around people he didn't trust, end of story.

Nevertheless, he greeted her with a smile, and she offered them a seat at the Ravenclaw table, with the rest of the Beauxbatons students. Harry looked at Hermione, checking to see if she was comfortable with the change of tables. When they took their seats at the Ravenclaw table, Harry found himself sitting across Fleur, with Anaiah on his right along with the rest of the Beauxbatons students, and Hermione on his left. They made small talk for a while, before Dumbledore joined the staff table, and food appeared in the platters before them.

To his surprise, Harry found the platters and bowls near the Beauxbatons students to be filled with all types of French dishes. He looked at Hermione, face full of surprise. Hermione, on the other hand, looked like she had just received an O on her History of Magic paper. She looked delighted. "Harry, this is unbelievable! I wonder if there have- oh there it is! Harry, you've got to try this!"

Harry watched, fascinated by the look of childish excitement and happiness on her face, as she served him some French dish he had never before seen in his life. He was enthralled, watching her chatter about her trips to France, telling him about all the wonderful things she had done and all the wonderful places she had visited. At one point she asked him if he would like to visit her house for a summer and accompany her family to a vacation to some exotic foreign country. So happy he was staring at the trove of childish innocence in her, Harry couldn't reply. She had to ask him twice, with a slight nudge to the shoulder, before he managed to give her a coherent answer.

"Um...I-I don't really know Hermione...I wouldn't want to be any trouble. Besides, that's the only time of the year you get to spend with your family Hermione, and I don't want to ruin it."

"Nonsense Harry! Mum and Dad will be delighted to meet you. My mum always says she'd like to meet you-"

"She does?" Harry found it surprising, to say the least, that Hermione's mother, someone he had seen only in passing, would want to meet him. "Of course Harry, I've told her so much about you, she says she knows you as well as I do."

"I do hope that's not the truth." Harry said with visible nervousness, making Hermione chuckle. Fleur, who had been watching their exchange with some interest smiled at Harry, before saying, "If you do visit my homeland, Harry, make sure you drop by my home. I have a sister who has the largest crush on you," she winked at Hermione playfully, earning a chuckle form the brown haired witch as she saw Harry's discomfort. "Besides, my father is a high-ranking Ministry official; he could get you VIP passes for most places in France. It will make your trip quite memorable."

Harry nodded numbly, still not believing Fleur could be such a friendly person. He was still wondering if today was a dream- winning the First task, making it out of Dumbledore's office in one piece, having lunch at the Ravenclaw table...

Harry found he quite enjoyed lunch, especially the playful banter between Fleur and Anaiah, thankfully in English this time. Many Beauxbatons students asked him a few questions about his life at Hogwarts, or congratulated him for his victory in the First task. An third year blonde Ravenclaw asked Harry if he wished to be transferred to the house of the Ravens, and if so, would he mind taking the haunted bed in the first year girl dorms.

Harry later learned another of Hogwarts lesser known secrets. It seemed there was a haunted bed in the first year girl dorms, though why such a thing was allowed to be in a room full of young children, Harry would never know. The bed would always remain visibly unoccupied, but on Halloween nights, an indentation could be seen on the mattress, as if someone was lying on the bed. Somehow, it made Harry glad he wasn't a first year Ravenclaw girl.

After lunch, Harry bid goodbye to Hermione, telling her to meet him in the library, in their usual place, as he, Anaiah and Fleur left for the trophy room, where the champions were to be interviewed by the various press representatives of the participating nations. Harry was slightly apprehensive of facing Rita Skeeter, but decided he could just tell her to 'go to the crows' if she acted all bitchy again. They made their way in a slightly awkward silence, and met Cedric along the way, who let them know that Krum and Wurdy were already in the trophy room.

As he entered the room, Harry couldn't help but stare at the Special Services shield with Tom Riddle etched on it. When Fleur and Cedric asked him what he was looking at, he told them about the student named Tom Riddle, who went to Hogwarts fifty years ago, and later became the bane of the Wizarding world. When he turned back to look at them, he found them staring at him open-mouthed, and Harry had to ask them if he had something offensive, before they regained the use of their lower jaws.

"But Harry, how do you know this?" asked Cedric.

That shut Harry up. He didn't want people knowing about the Chamber of Secrets incident. "Um...there was some disturbance back in second year...and I found it out form a source I'd rather not reveal..."

"Oh yes, yes I remember now. So, is it true?"

"What?"

"About you opening the Chamber of Secrets? Some say there was some sort of monster down there?"

"Uh...well, you-" Harry was saved by the arrival of the reporters, and the school heads. Harry was surprised to see Professor McGonagall in the room, but shrugged it off to her being the deputy headmistress of the school. He saw Dumbledore and Madam Maxime having a very intense conversation about something, and Karkaroff speaking with Snape in hushed tones.

Much to his consternation and annoyance, Rita Skeeter made straight for him, along with her fat camera-man. Harry felt anger rise inside of him, but began practicing his Occlumency to keep it in check.  
"Ah...How's my favourite champion this fine morning? I must say Harry, I've been dying to get my quill on you ever since the first task, such a grand performance. My readers will be delighted to know all sorts of things about you. Where would you like to begin Harry? Let's take a seat over here," she grabbed him tightly by his fore-arm, and Harry pulled his arm away forcefully. If Rita noticed the extra force, she didn't show it.

Harry felt disgust bubbling within him, and there were a lot of uncouth things he wanted to say to the lying reporter, but Hermione's parting warning about the power of press made Harry hesitate. He knew he couldn't just brush her off, or she'd write something so horrible and utterly fabricated, Harry would have trouble walking the halls in peace. So he swallowed his anger, gritted his teeth, and sat down on the chair farthest from the on Skeeter had indicated, as near McGonagall as possible. He wanted to retain whatever control he could, and as a last measure, he sent a pleading look to his head of house. McGonagall looked surprised, and stepped a bit closer to where he was sitting.

Rita didn't look very pleased by the turn of events, but allowed Harry his liberties. She frowned a bit when she found herself unable to use her special quill, and cast a wary glance at the transfiguration teacher standing too close to Harry for her comfort, and received a very frosty stare in return. She sat in the chair in front of Harry, her bejewelled spectacles glinting in the sunlight filtering through the windows. "Now Mr Potter, how do you feel about being in the lead of a tournament, where every other participant is not only far more advanced in terms of magical ability, but also more experienced in the application of said ability?"

"I don't know, it feels nice to be in the lead, I certainly had to work for it, but at the same time, I feel like my presence in the tournament is putting the others in danger. I just hope no one gets hurt just because some loony wanted a go at me."

Her quill scratched against the parchment, and Harry tried unsuccessfully to read what she was writing. "Tell me more about your performance Harry. It must have been a terrible shock, forced to face four fully grown dragons..."

Harry thought about it for a moment, "Uh...yeah, I suppose. I was quite surprised when I was told we would be facing dragons, and if I am to be honest, I'd say I was scared beyond belief. I was shaking the entire time. And when the other dragons burst in, I couldn't believe what was happening. Then the dome started coming down. It was a very chaotic moment, the entire time I moved without thinking...I'd say it's an experience I sure as hell never want to repeat again."

"And where does a fourth year learn to cast spells of as much power and magnitude as you did, Harry? I am sure my readers and I remember our own course at Hogwarts, and I don't remember the Dragon's Bane as part of it. What is your secret Harry?"

Harry took a deep breath, wondering how to answer the question. He hadn't thought of being asked _this_ question by the press. "My secret? Its lots of cheese and lemons." Harry said, trying to field the question with humour. Rita, surprised, looked up from the pad of parchment she had been scribbling on and chuckled. "My my, Harry, you seemed to have learned from your last encounter...I suppose I'll do you a small mercy and quote you on this one.

"So tell me Harry, I'm sure a lot of my female readers will want to know- a handsome boy like you, with those pretty green eyes, there must be a special someone, a girl who has captured your heart."

Immediately, Harry thought of Hermione, and wondered just how much of a racket Skeeter would raise if she found about it. "Uh, well...there's not really anyone...I'm not really that popular among the student population..."

Rita smirked. "Come now, Harry. I've heard rumours of you getting quite cosy with a muggleborn student, what's her name? Eh...Granger? Yes, Hermione Granger...Tell me about her, Harry, don't be shy."

Behind her, Harry saw the frown form on Professor McGonagall's face. She cleared her throat rather loudly, but Rita ignored her completely. His own anger flared up a bit. Did people honestly have nothing else to do but spread rumours about him? His tone was short when he replied, "Hermione and I are just friends. There's nothing going on between us, if you are wondering. She's just a very good friend."

Rita looked at him for a moment, before smiling to herself and scribbling on her pad again. She asked him some more questions about how he felt about the other champions individually, and Harry tried his best to be respectful and polite when he spoke of them.

When Rita was done with him, Harry was interviewed by a French female reporter with an exceptionally long nose, and it kept reminding Harry of the tale of Pinocchio. There were some translators provided by the Department of International Magical Cooperation, and Harry found the questions to be relatively easy to answer. Surprisingly for Harry, even the French were interested in his love life. Thankfully, the Bulgarian male reporter wasn't. Harry didn't know how comfortable he would have been talking with him about it.

The questioning went for another hour, before Dumbledore announced that the time allotted to the reporters had come to an end. Harry was more than ready to bolt from the room by then. He left the room at a hurried pace, managing to evade Anaiah, and reached the library as fast as he could. He found Hermione immersed in her Runes homework, and as he dropped down beside her, she smiled at him, and pulled out his own books from her bag.

"I had Neville bring them from your dorm," she said. "So, how did the interviews go?"

"Very irritating," he replied, "everyone wanted to know if we're dating or not. I was of half a mind to throttle Rita Skeeter."

Hermione looked stumped. "Oh."

"Yeah, well I told the French reporter we were just good friends and the Bulgarian never bothered to ask."

They studied together in companionable silence, though Harry thought Hermione looked a bit distracted. When he asked her about it, she told him it was nothing. They had just finished their Charms homework, when Anaiah Malfoy walked upon them. Resisting the urge to smack his forehead from frustration, Harry again greeted her with a smile and a hello, and Hermione gave her an enthusiastic smile.

"Harry, my father is here to see you. He's waiting in the Entrance Hall."

Harry sighed, and Hermione tensed. He hated Lucius Malfoy, Hermione even more so, and it set his bells ringing to think that he would have to meet with the Death Eater. He placed his quill between the pages of his charms book, rolled up his parchment, and got up, pushing his chair away. He looked at Hermione, whose face was apprehensive.

"I'll see you at dinner."

* * *

Lucius Malfoy was standing with his back to the castle, facing the vast expanse of the Hogwarts grounds. He looked quite striking, with his long slivery blonde hair, and sharp silk robes. Inside the robes he wore a muggle style suit, which quite surprised Harry. Then Harry remembered that most wizards wore muggle suits inside their robes, and it was no different for Lucius Malfoy. Harry thanked his stars when he didn't see Draco around.

Hearing Harry approach, the pale-skinned man turned around, his face an expansive domain of cheer Harry was sure was fake. Harry knew Lucius Malfoy very well, for not only was the death-eater quite devoted to his master, he was also one of the most trusted, and most rewarded of Voldemort's followers.

"Mr Potter, we meet finally. Allow me to congratulate you on such an outstanding performance. I assure you, Wizarding Britain rejoices at having you as one of our champions." Harry wondered if they were just going to ignore their last encounter, in which Dobby had blasted Lucius his ass for Harry.

"Mr Malfoy, it is a pleasure to meet you." Harry made sure he followed the proper etiquettes. Sometimes he wondered if having Voldemort's memories was such a bad thing. So far it had only served to save his life.

They shook hands, and Harry felt the elder man's grip to be very discomforting. Behind him Anaiah shuffled on her feet, extremely nervous for some reason. He looked at Lucius, wondering what the hell the Death Eater wanted to say to him.

"Let's take a walk, shall we?" He took a step back, before using his polished mahogany cane to gesture to the huge wooden doors. "Anaiah dear, do accompany us. Our talk pertains to your little after-adventure with the Dragons."

 _Of course,_ Harry realized. This was about Harry saving Anaiah's life.

They walked out for quite some distance, and when they were sufficiently away from the castle, Harry put his hand inside his robes, over his wand, ready to start cursing at a moment's notice. They were in a quiet and isolated expanse of the Hogwarts grounds, and the closest people were the students walking near the Beauxbatons carriages, much too far away to be of any assistance in case Harry needed it.

"I would like to express my gratitude, Mr Potter. It seems the House of Malfoy owes you quite a debt, in fact, I wouldn't be surprised if my daughter owed you a life debt."

Harry was slightly startled at that. He racked his brains for what he knew about life debts. The answer surprised the living daylights out of him. If Tom Riddle was to be believed, Harry was owed a life debt by not only Anaiah Malfoy, but also by Hermione and Ginny Weasley. Bile rose in his throat as memories of what Tom Riddle had done with the six life-debts he had been owed came to the forefront of his mind. He looked at Lucius, and it struck him Lucius must be worried Harry might do the same. He started getting angry at what was being implied.

"I am sure it can be settled in a manner suitable to us all." Harry decided to see what Lucius had in mind, so he kept his reply short.

Lucius had gone slightly tense. "At this point, I only wanted to know if you recognized the debt. You see Mr Potter, it is a matter of great concern to House Malfoy, and I'd like it to be resolved as soon as possible." He looked at his daughter, who had been silent so far.

Harry took a look at her, before looking back at Lucius. "What are you proposing Mr Malfoy?"

Lucius Malfoy looked a bit anxious, Harry noted, and revulsion gripped him as he realized where he was going with this. He wasn't worried Harry would try something with Anaiah, he _wanted_ Harry to.

"Well, Mr Potter, I have no wish to be indelicate in my daughter's presence-"

"Indelicacy has certainly never been a concern with you before. Why bother with this charade now?"

Lucius looked startled at Harry's tone. A small part of Harry's own mind was surprised at his anger, but the rest of Harry hated Lucius with every fibre of his being. For a man to offer his own daughter for mindless sex, just to resolve a stupid life-debt, so that the perceived honour of his House could remain perceivably unblemished...Harry wondered just how disgusting and sick Lucius Malfoy was.

He watched Lucius Malfoy's face turn into the same mask of cold indifference Harry was familiar with. His hand gripped his cane a bit tighter. "I would watch my tongue if I were you Harry Potter, it would do you good to learn to speak amongst your betters. A rag-picker like you should be honoured by such an offer."

"It would do you good to know who your betters are Lucius. She's your own daughter for Merlin's sake. Show some shame!"

The indifference broke, and was immediately replaced by the cold hatred Harry had seen when Dobby had attacked Lucius. Harry saw Anaiah Malfoy's face pale with horror, as she realized what her father had been suggesting. She took a step back from her father. "You- you can't. My God...surely, I-"

"You insolent whelp, you think you are better than me? A Malfoy? Why? Because you managed to defeat a few dragons? Do not think for a moment, that it makes you special! If you knew the feats the Dark Lord and his followers could do, you would have gone into hiding long ago-" He broke of his speech as Anaiah Made to speak again, cutting her across with a snarl.

"AND YOU! Ungrateful little wrench! I'm getting tired of your stupid rebellion! This mess if of your own making, girl! You'll do exactly as I tell you to!"

Harry felt his anger growing, something, he found, happened too often for his liking. "Remembering the old days, you filthy ferret! Don't you wish you knew just how much I am aware of the heinous hearts that beat within the corrupt society of the Wizarding world? And as for the Dark Lord, I don't see him around. Would you happen to know why? Because he couldn't beat a baby. Because he tried to fuck with a Potter, and somewhere in the dirtiest pit of the world you like to think you rule, he is paying the price- he is rotting away."

Lucius Malfoy had pulled his wand from his cane, though he was still to point it at Harry. "I would be very careful with what I say, were I you-"

"Stuff it Malfoy! Turn around and walk away, before I pull my wand. And know this- I won't bother pointing it at the ground. Turn around, and walk _away_ , and thank whichever sick devil you worship that I let you walk away, for I am a Potter. And the House of Potter is ascending. It is ascending like nothing ever did before."

Lucius looked surprised at the intensity of Harry's little speech. He stood scowling at him for a moment, before he began to chuckle. Harry decided to pull his wand out, but at the same moment, Lucius put his back in his cane. The smile on his face, however, did not fade. "Very well, Harry Potter, it seems you are destined towards the same sticky end your parents met. Let us see how far dramatic words and bravado take you. I wouldn't do you the honour of a duel- it would barely last five seconds. I'll do you a favour, instead- I'll pray to my devil, Harry Potter, as you must pray to your silly angels, I'll pray to my devil. For my devil is ascending too, Mr Potter. And he is ascending like he did before."

He took a few steps in the direction of the Hogwarts Gates, before turning to glare at his daughter, who was sobbing by now. "I'll be in touch." And with that he took off at a brisk pace, never looking behind once.

Harry turned to the utterly embarrassed and humiliated witch in front of him. He focused on his Occlumency shields to calm his anger. When he was sure he could talk without cursing, he walked up to the crying witch. She had covered her face with her hands, but Harry could see the tears flowing.

Crying girls.

Damn.

Where was a raging dragon when you needed it the most?

The only girl whose tears Harry could handle was Hermione, and it was because most of them were because of, or for him. Nevertheless, he tried. He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, and she shied away from him. "Anaiah."

She didn't bother replying, but she did begin to relax a little. She had definitely stopped howling now. Harry pulled his wand out and conjured a handkerchief for her, feeling a slight ache in his chest as he did so. His core was still not prepared for any kind of magic. She accepted it gratefully. When Harry tried to get her to face him, she turned away.

He sighed. "You don't have to worry- I'm not going to call in the debt." She turned around at that, disbelief clear on her face. "Don't lie to me. My father just gave you his permission- and you're a boy."

She looked almost child-like in that moment. "Yeah well, you might have noticed I'm slightly different."

When she didn't reply, Harry decided to ask her something that had been bothering him all day. "I couldn't help but notice, you've been trying to get me alone all day. May I ask what was all that about?"

"It was nothing. You're just being stupid."

But Harry was sure it wasn't 'nothing'. Her face had paled even more, if possible, and her hands had begun trembling. "I'm sure it isn't 'nothing'. However, it is your wish- if you feel you want to tell me what it is you know where to find me."

Harry turned around to go, and she followed him silently. Harry enjoyed the cool weather as he contemplated his encounter with Lucius. Shuddering with revulsion at the man's name, Harry wondered if Draco would grow up to become the same bastard his father was. He was almost past the Gate, and into the Entrance Hall, when she spoke. "I need your help."

Harry turned to face her. She looked nervous, and she was playing with her fingers, not looking at his face.

"With what?"

"It's important. But I need you to help me, please. You're my last hope...I-I've tried everything else...please..." she was almost begging him now, her whole body trembling. Harry looked around quickly, to make sure no one was watching. With his luck, Rita Skeeter would find them like this, and Harry would make the next day's news as a Pureblood heiress harasser.

"Can we...can w-we pl-please talk somewhere private? I can't risk anyone overhearing us."

Harry stared at her for a minute, before nodding and leading her to the Great Hall, hoping to find Hermione. When he didn't see her there, he turned around, leading a now confused Anaiah Malfoy to the library. To his dismay, he didn't find her there too. He stood still for a moment, wondering what to do.

"Can you cast a patronus?" he asked Anaiah, who looked surprised but nodded.

"My core hasn't recovered fully, so I need you to cast one for me. I need you to send a message to Hermione Granger, tell her to meet me in the library."

"I don't want her to know. It's not easy for me to let _you_ know."

"I trust Hermione more than I trust myself. Besides, I don't keep secrets from her. I assure you, whatever you tell me will be just as safe as with her as it is with me."

"So...you'll tell her about...about what my f-father said to you?"

Harry gave a slow deliberate nod.

She looked at him uncertainly. Harry sighed. "I give you my word. You can trust her." She still didn't look like she believed him, but she pulled her wand out and cast the charm, and a moment later, an eagle of white light flew out of her wand and disappeared into the ceiling of the library. They waited in silence for fifteen minutes, before a much frazzled looking Hermione arrived at the corner of the library where she usually sat.

"Harry..." she was panting, and Harry immediately pulled a chair out for her close beside him for her to sit. "I ran all the way...sorry...what happened...how did you meeting with Lucius Malfoy go?"

Harry waited until she had taken the seat. "Take a breather Hermione. The meeting can wait. Anaiah wanted to talk about something important."

Hermione looked surprised, but she nodded at Harry and settled down, after conjuring a glass and filling it up with water for her. On Harry's request she conjured another one for Anaiah, who accepted it gratefully. "Whenever you're ready, Anaiah."

She refused to look anywhere but her glass tumbler, her index finger playing at the edge of it. They sat in silence for quite some time, but Harry didn't prompt her again, allowing her to gather her story. Meanwhile, Harry asked Hermione to put up the privacy wards he had taught her.

It must have made Anaiah more comfortable, for once Hermione was done, Anaiah looked into Harry's eyes, took a deep breath, and said, "I think I know where the Dark Lord is."

* * *

Harry froze in his seat, every muscle in his body tensing. His fists clenched, knuckles turning white, and his breath quickened. Hermione seemed to notice the change in him, for she cast him a wary glance. "Say that again."

Harry's voice was so commanding, Hermione had to look again to make sure it was Harry who had spoken. He looked like a statue, utterly still, but the rage written on his face was clear.

"I think I know where the Dark lord is." Anaiah repeated, looking as scared of Harry's expression as Hermione felt. Hermione saw her pull her shoulders into herself, her arms coming up to hug herself. Her eyes shone with naked fear, either from the realization that she was talking about Lord Voldemort, or from the fact that she was facing a very furious Harry Potter.

"Explain yourself." Again, that slow and commanding tone. Hermione put her hand on his shoulder to calm him down. It worked slightly, for though his face relaxed, his muscles didn't.

Anaiah looked terrified, and Hermione realized she was scared of what she was doing, possible going against the Dark Lord. "Harry- wait. Anaiah, calm down. There's no need to be scared. Just calm down and tell us everything you-"

"No need to be scared?" she asked incredulously, "No need to be scared? If the Dark Lord learns of this- of my treachery, he will rip me to shreds!" Harry gestured to Hermione to keep quiet, and Hermione obeyed, but not without an uncertain look in Harry's direction. "Anaiah, start from the beginning. Tell me everything you know. But take your time."

Anaiah took a few deep breaths, her fingers drumming the table nervously. "Last year, my father bought a villa somewhere in England. That's where he is- the Dark Lord. It's under the Fidelius charm...um, that's a protection charm, used to hi-"

"We know what the Fidelius is. Please continue."

Anaiah looked surprised for a moment at Harry's revelation, then shrugged and continued. "I think he contacted my father last year...I-I was in France, so I'm not...I'm not sure. Anyways, I think that's where he's hiding...because I had to spend some time in Malfoy Manor this summer, and there were a lot of people there, and I assume you know...what kind of people I mean."

"Death-Eaters." Harry said. She nodded, looking around the library, as if expecting wizards wearing dark hooded robes to appear out of thin air.

"Almost all of them visited at least twice or thrice. I was...I was confined in my room with my mother...-"

Anaiah shrieked when Harry's hand slammed on the table in front of him. Hermione jumped, startled too, and looked at Harry, eyes wide. His eyes were shut tightly, and his brow was furrowed in concentration. Hermione, who had spent so much time around him in his Dementia phase, realized what was happening. His Dementia was active again.

So she waited quietly for it to pass, signalling Anaiah to follow suit- who looked utterly bewildered and surprised, but kept quiet nonetheless.

Slowly his eyes opened, and he looked at Anaiah with suspicion in them. "Narcissa Malfoy gave birth to only one child," he said in a grave tone, "and that child is Draco Malfoy."

Hermione gasped, as what Harry was implying struck her. She watched as Anaiah's face lost its colour.

"The question I'm asking myself now, Anaiah, is _who are you_? And what is your relation to Lucius Malfoy?"

Anaiah looked as if someone had pulled the ground from beneath her feet. She was visibly shaken, and sweat appeared on her forehead. Tears filled her eyes, and her breath now came in pants. She looked fearfully at Harry, and pleadingly at Hermione. "Ho-how do you know th-that?"

Harry leaned back in his chair. "That's entirely irrelevant. And know this, that I'm also aware of the truth. I need you to confirm it for me."

Anaiah let out a quick breath, leaning forward to take Harry's clenched fists in her hands. "Please, I beg of you, no one must know of this...they'll kill her, you must understand...I'll do anything to- please..."

"Anaiah," Hermione spoke, unable to see the girl so forlorn, "whatever you tell us here, no one is going to know about it. Rest assured, your secrets are safe with us."

Harry gestured at Hermione, and Hermione rose, moving around the table to Anaiah's side. She dropped into the chair next to her, and placed a comforting arm around her shoulders. It took a few moments for Anaiah to calm down.

"Now," Harry spoke, "tell me everything. Don't bother lying."

She looked at Harry for a few minutes. "You're right. I'm not the daughter of Narcissa Malfoy. That woman couldn't hate me more. I was born from a concubine- Arrith Mallory. She was from a family of farmers, a minor pureblood family. Lucius Malfoy met her while on a trip to France. They had a rather fast romance; he won her over with his silver tongue, and brought her to England with promises of marriage and honour." Her voice hardened to steel, "Then he trapped her in a concubine contract.

"My mother was devastated, but being a concubine makes you so powerless against your master...When I was born, Lucius was so angry- he'd been expecting a boy, you see...and when he saw that it was a girl, he...he- he burned her-"

Fresh tears ran down her cheeks, and beside her, Hermione looked like she might get sick. Her face certainly looked green.

"Cursed fire- black fire. He burned her face off. It could never be healed, even by magic. My mother learned later on that the Dark Lord had wanted a son- of pure blood, for a ritual...and Lucius Malfoy had been selected to provide one. He had thought it would be a great honour, he _was_ the Dark Lord's most trusted...most favoured. She also learned there had been other concubines...three or four other women. Most of them bore him stillborns...but one of them gave him a son. And he gave the child to the Dark Lord."

She had begun speaking in a numb tone, as if she wasn't there, maybe a million miles away, with her faceless mother. She drew a rattling breath, and leaned a bit into Hermione, who tightened her grip around Anaiah's shoulders. And Harry started remembering. He remembered the sick ritual, called the 'Tears of the Weak'. He remembered another facet of the path to immortality Lord Voldemort had taken.

"He didn't kill me, though. I was brought up by Bellatrix Lestrange for the first three years of my life. She wanted me to become another version of her. I don't remember much of it, just flashes. I do remember my mother...I was dumped by her side in the tiny cell she was made to live in, during the nights. I remember my mother praying for the fall of the tyrant who had wrought nothing but agony and misery upon her. That is what her life had become- pray, eat and sleep- all in the dark. And then," her blue eyes bore into Harry's green ones, "then the Dark Lord fell. Her prayers were heard.

"They were all captured, some killed, and some managed to escape. But not Lucius- he was too slippery, too rich. He managed to bribe his way out of prison. And he sent me and my mother back to France. He told her...that I was to become a top student, excel at everything- that I was to uphold the honour of the Malfoy Family. He gave us his name, and some of his money...and he forbade us to dig the secret he had buried with his marriage to Narcissa.

"I was claimed as a Malfoy daughter, and...And I followed his orders to the letter. That is, until now...the Dark Lord is back, and I need your help. They came for my mother while I was in school this year. I received a letter, and I was told that I had to go to Hogwarts as part of the Tournament group. They told me I was to place your name in the Goblet of Fire, to use a confundus charm made by the Dark Lord himself and... I'm so sorry I had to do it- I had no other choice- they would have killed her...please, I'm sorry... please forgive me..." She was quivering in fear, her grip on Harry's hand so tight it had began to hurt him.

Hermione was positively gaping now, and though she had tears of her own flowing down her face, she was looking at Harry with anticipation, awaiting a response from him, apart from the cold command he held over his face. "Harry," she said, "you know it isn't her fault. They have her mother...let's go talk to Professor Dumbledore, Harry, I'm sure he'll know what to do."

Harry quietened her with a look, before returning the intimidating look back to Anaiah. The French champion was outright sobbing now, head bent and resting on the table, her hands refusing to let go of Harry's.

Surprisingly, Harry felt no anger. He knew he would have done the same if someone was holding his mother hostage. He pitied Anaiah and her mother, pitied the life that they had been forced to live.

"Everyone here says you're noble and helping- please, prove them right. Prove my brother wrong. I'm begging you. I'll give you anything I ha- everything I have in return, but please, please save my mother."

"Anaiah." He spoke finally, and it worried Hermione greatly that his voice still had that fear inducing coldness in it. He waited until she looked at him. "Where is your mother?"

"Will you help me?" she asked, and Hermione could _feel_ the hope in her voice.

Harry took a deep breath before looking at Hermione. They had a silent conversation without words, and Hermione pleaded with him silently. She hoped she had managed to convince him when he broke off the eye contact to look back at Anaiah. He stood up from his chair, and Anaiah's face started filling with despair.

"I'll help you. But I need you to promise me-"

Whatever Harry had been about to say had to be cut short, for Anaiah had leapt from her chair and fallen at Harry's feet, wrapping herself around Harry's knees. Her mouth poured a constant stream of gratitude and praise. Harry, stunned beyond belief, looked at Hermione, eyes impossibly wide. Hermione herself was no better. She'd covered her open mouth with her hand, forgetting in her shock how to close it, and her eyes looked like they started from her hairline.

Ten seconds later, when Harry could finally move, he bent over to pluck her from around his knees, and it took considerable effort. When he had managed to pull her away from his feet, she launched into a hug, wrapping herself around him, showering his face with kisses.

That pulled Hermione out of her shock, and she leapt into action, pulling Anaiah away, aware of how uncomfortable Harry was with people hugging him. But Anaiah was too overwhelmed to care, for as soon as she could, she turned around and wrapped Hermione in a hug too.

Harry stood there in shock, watching the two girls embrace, unaware of the faint traces of the peach coloured lipstick adorning his cheeks and forehead.

It took Anaiah a few minutes to calm down, and when she was somewhat sober, Harry asked Hermione for another glass of water, which he pushed towards Anaiah. She took it, looking sheepish. Once they were all seated, Harry fixed Anaiah with his stare again.

"Next time, I'd prefer you thanking me verbally, alright?"

She nodded; face reddening, though it was still shining from relief.

"Before I get to the topic of your mother, I need you to answer me truthfully, and don't be afraid, just tell me- did you lace the dragon enclosures with spell-integrated potions?"

Harry watched her face carefully, and she shook her head after a moment. "Is that what happened?

Harry nodded, slightly convinced that she was telling the truth. "If I were to ask for an Unbreakable Vow, which stated that all that you have told me is the truth, and that you will have no further hand in sabotaging the tournament without alerting me first, and in return for this guarantee, I will rescue you mother, and provide the two of you with a safe house until the threat of Lord Voldemort has passed, what then?"

Anaiah's and Hermione's eyes widened, and Hermione took a hold of his hand in a tight grip. "Harry! You can't be serious! An Unbreakable Vow! People ha- you can die! She can die!"

Harry gestured at her for silence again, and she let go of his hand with a huff, leaning back in her chair, her, arms crossed across her chest in disapproval. But Anaiah's reaction was slightly different. She offered Harry her hand, ready to instigate the Vow right then. Harry looked at her for a few seconds, before rising and taking Hermione's hand in his.

"Let's take this to Dumbledore. I have a plan, but only he can carry it out."


	6. Floating Lady

Not exactly a filler chapter, since Anaiah's mom does get rescued ...We see Dumbldore's foray into the Malfoy household.

Dumbledore's mission is quite safe and sound, with barely any hassle, but then they had the element of surprise.

To those who like that sort of thing, Evsei Agron was a real Russian Mafia Ganglord who probably died sometime in the 1980s...probably. SO yes, he's a real person.

Ron's up to his tricks again.

Not exactly my best work. I could do better, but I'm feeling too sleepy and lazy...

I was hoping there would be more reviews, but alas...

Oh well, nothing to do about it.

* * *

"Harry," Anaiah spoke in a trembling voice, "are you sure about Dumbledore?"

Harry nodded, giving her a reassuring look. "He and I have our differences, but he owes me- big time."

They were standing in front of the gargoyle guarding Dumbledore's office, and Hermione was trying all known names of candies and sweet confectionaries she could, but the gargoyle wouldn't budge. "Are you comfortable telling Dumbledore about this?"

"Do you think it will help?"

"I am sure it will help. This is Albus Dumbledore we're talking about. If we want subtlety, he can do it better than anyone else I know."

Anaiah nodded, looking at the gargoyle again.

"Harry this thing won't open. Do you have any idea of what the correct candy name might be?"

Harry was about to move, mind already on muggle candies, when he heard Dumbledore's voice behind him. "Did you try Turkish Delight, Miss Granger? I find it to be an extremely tasty delicacy."

Hermione jumped, dropping her wand in the process, while Anaiah whirled around, facing the headmaster with anxiety on her face. "I'd say good evening, Harry, but our earlier meeting didn't leave much in the day I can call 'good'."

"Good evening professor," Hermione muttered audibly, bending to pick her wand up and tucking it safely inside her robes.

Dumbledore nodded at her, "So Harry, I presume the matter is of significant importance. I wasn't expecting a visit from you for quite some time."

"I'd prefer to discuss this somewhere we have less chances of being interrupted, or overheard."

Dumbledore nodded, and the gargoyle sprang aside with a wave of his hand. He led the way into his office, and Harry, Hermione and Anaiah followed. Dumbledore took his seat behind the desk, offering them lemon drops, which they refused politely.

Without much preamble, Harry asked Anaiah if she wanted to tell the tale herself, or if it was okay with her if Harry did it. Anaiah told him to go ahead, and chose to sit in her chair quietly. When Harry was finished with his story, Dumbledore stood up from his chair and took to pacing behind his desk. Harry noted that Fawkes was nowhere to be seen.

"This is rather troubling," said Dumbledore, after his fifth round behind the table. "If what Miss Malfoy says is true, then the Wizarding World has much to fear. I had hoped for more time, but I suppose beggars can't be choosers.

"And what of your plan, Harry?"

"I need to borrow money from you, headmaster. A considerable amount...one that my trust vault does not cover. I could ask my Godfather for it, but it would cause avoidable difficulties."

The headmaster's eyebrows rose. "May I ask what you intend to do with this money?"

"I was thinking of buying a large property in a muggle neighbourhood. We could cast- rather you could cast the Fidelius on it. It can act as a safe house...if the Dark Lord is returning indeed, then I think Anaiah and her mother won't be the only people who will need our help."

The headmaster looked at Harry contemplatively for a few seconds. "I was hoping we could avoid the whole Dark Lord returning part altogether, but ah well...Now about this plan of yours, Harry...I can see the plan working, though I think a few additional wards will need to be added. If Miss Malfoy and her mother do not mind being subjected to a brief questioning under Veritaserum or an oath of some kind, I think our mutual friend Snuffles may also appreciate shelter from the coming rain."

Harry's ears perked up at the idea. He turned to look at Anaiah, who looked a bit apprehensive. "If you can word me an oath that says that you'll keep my mother safe, I'll do both."

Dumbledore settled into his seat, studying Anaiah with his blue eyes for a minute. "Did you have any particular place in mind, Harry?"

Harry realised the Headmaster was offering him an olive branch, including him in discussions he would have earlier kept Harry out of. It gave Harry a tiny relief that the headmaster had accepted the fact that Harry was not a child- he'd never been one. "Um...Not really, Professor. On second thought, muggle countryside sounds better. It will be isolated, but still inconspicuous. We could probably buy a large farmland, or something of the sort. You'll have to excuse me, Professor, I'm not really aware of much in these matters."

Dumbledore waved him off. "That's alright Harry, it's of no consequence. You are right about the countryside though. I think I know of a quiet riverside village, we could find a peaceful plot there that would suit our purposes. As for lending you money, it seems that I owed your parents a hundred thousand galleons Harry, but their untimely demise meant that I could never return that money. It was a, shall I say, under the table transaction, not strictly legal, so we're covered on that account."

Hermione's eyes widened slightly at the amount, but Harry remained unaffected. "I'll prepare the oath then, shall I?" the Headmaster said.

Harry nodded at the headmaster, who pulled out a parchment from a drawer, and proceeded to write the oath. While he was writing the oath, the headmaster summoned an elf by the name of 'Tinker', and sent it to Severus Snape's office to return with a vial of Veritaserum. By the time the headmaster had finished wording the oath, the elf had returned with a vial of glistening clear liquid.

The Headmaster offered the parchment to Anaiah who read it twice, and then passed it to Harry. Hermione read the parchment over Harry's shoulder, and mentally applauded Dumbledore for his iron-clad wording of the oath. The oath stated that "I, Anaiah Malfoy, daughter of Arrith Mallory and Lucius Abraxas Malfoy, or the signee of the oath, swears by my magic, that the information provided by me to Harry James Potter, and Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, on the twenty-eighth of November, nineteen ninety four, about the whereabouts of the Dark Lord Voldemort, and the marital status of Lucius Malfoy, is true as best to my knowledge. I also swear by my magic, that I shall not sabotage the Eptan-Wizard tournament, held in Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in the same year- Nineteen ninety four, without letting Harry Potter and Albus Dumbledore know of my actions full consequences. I shall only attempt to do such on receiving orders from Lucius Malfoy, or any follower of the Dark Lord Voldemort."

The oath stated a few more instructions and conditions for Anaiah and her mother, mainly that everything and anything they learnt while in the house, or in the company of Harry or Dumbledore, could not be shared with the Dark Lord's followers without the consent of the aforementioned parties, and finally it stated Dumbledore's promise of providing complete protection for one Arrith Mallory from any and all followers of Lord Voldemort, mainly in the form of a safe place of residence, as long as Anaiah or Arrith themselves did nothing to sabotage said protection. At the end of the oath, were thirteen words of incantation that made the oath magically actively binding, or made the oath effective.

"Do you have any way of contacting your mother, Miss Malfoy?"

"I think I might be able to, Professor."

"Excellent. Where was she the last time you had contact?"

"Malfoy Manor. It's located near Watford. You can approach it directly- there're not too many wards, at least not any dangerous ones."

The headmaster leaned back in his chair, absorbing Anaiah's information, as she described a few wards. It seemed to Harry that Lucius didn't have much to fear. The man probably didn't have many unwanted visitors. It reminded Harry of an unwanted visitor he'd had some time ago.

"Headmaster, I think I know of someone who can help us in breaching Malfoy Manor."

Dumbledore looked at Harry with interest, viewing Harry over his half-moon spectacles. "I think you might remember the strange house-elf that visited me in second year? Dobby? I was hoping you could summon-"

 _Crack!_

Harry was cut short by the little elf apparating right beside his chair, startling the hell out of him, looking like he'd just won the lottery. His enormous green eyes shone with pure joy, and his hands clenched together in front of his chest. "Harry Potter calls for Dobby?"

Behind him, Anaiah and Hermione watched with barely suppressed smiles, and in front of him, Dumbledore studied the incident with an amused smile on his face, eyes twinkling like Christmas lights. Dobby was wearing a silken pillowcase this time, tucked into a pair of small pants that could have fit a five year old child. On his bald head, a bright orange wizard's hat rested precariously, and his feet were securely tucked in boots that looked funnily small to Harry. His strange appearance only served to make the scene more comic.

"I, uh, yeah...Dobby," Harry looked at the house elf warily, "I need your help."

The elf developed a manic gleam in his eye that disturbed Harry slightly, he wondered if he needed to stay away from the little elf. "Dobby will help Sir Harry Potter! Anything Harry Potter asks- eecch!"

The moment Dobby laid eyes on Anaiah, his eyes went impossibly wide, so wide, Harry was afraid they would pop out. He looked distressed, and even as Harry watched, he took a step back in his consternation. "Little Mistress Ana! Dobby is- Dobby is... so- Dobby always w-wondered where Little Mistress Ana had gone! Dobby looked and looked, Dobby looked everywhere! And when old Bad Master forbade Dobby to look, Dobby disobeyed him, and Dobby punished himself later..." the elf seemed to be overcome with emotion, more emotion than even Harry had ever seen from Dobby.

Anaiah had tears in her eyes; she clearly remembered Dobby from her younger years. Much to Harry's relief, she did not share the same cruel manners regarding house-elves and other magical species that the rest of the Malfoy family did. She took a step in Dobby's direction, who looked extremely nervous, and was pulling at his ears slightly. "I remember you;" she said softly, "You used to bring my mother fresh clothes and stolen food...didn't you? She's told me a lot of stories about you, Dobby. She always said she was thankful for your kindness; it was your help that kept her sane. You've been a very good elf, Dobby."

Dobby surprised them by breaking down. He began howling, as great drops of tears traversed his pale, slightly wrinkled cheeks. "Little Mistress Ana is too kind to poor Dobby!" He wailed.

"I'm not your mistress Dobby, and nor am I little anymore." She said with a fond smile on her face. Harry couldn't help smile at the scene. He heard Hermione sniffle behind him, and he turned to look at her. She wasn't crying, but her eyes were unusually wet. She smiled at him as he rolled his eyes at her. When Harry gave her a teasing smile, she pulled out her tongue at him.

When Harry turned around to face Dobby, he found the elf looking at Anaiah with adoration.

"Harry, how do you know Dobby?" Anaiah asked. Harry found himself retelling the story of his second year, and Dobby's disastrous attempts at helping him, though he left out any mentions of Basilisks. But Dobby ended the story by retelling Harry's involvement in Dobby's freedom. And it looked to be the something the little elf was very proud of. By the time he was finished, Anaiah was smiling at him. "Well, it seems everyone is right about you- you are very helping and noble indeed."

"I do what I can, and what I must." Harry replied simply.

"If even half of us followed your example Harry, the world would be a merrier place to live in." Dumbledore added, "Now, I do not mean to sound like a heartless old man, but I am a busy man, and as interesting as Harry's deeds are, we must keep to the matter at hand."

Harry looked at Dobby. The little elf seemed so happy, Harry wondered if he would be able to follow the conversation. "Can you get into Malfoy Manor Dobby?"

Dobby looked like he'd rather be sick, but he nodded. "The other elves at Bad Master's house make fun of Dobby. They says Dobby is a bad elf who brings shame to elves. But Dobby has a friend who works in Bad master's house. Dobby will ask Winny for help. Dobby does not like Bad Master's house, but Harry Potter asks Dobby to go, so Dobby will go!"

Harry wondered if Dobby was trying to guilt trip him, but then he saw the expression of fierce determination on Dobby's face. He felt bad, sending Dobby to a place he obviously didn't like, but this was important. Besides, it wasn't like he was making Dobby go back forever. Behind him Hermione gave a disapproving sigh to show her exasperation but kept quiet. "I am sorry for asking this of you Dobby, but it's important. Tell you what, once this is over, I owe you a new pair of socks."

Dobby's face lit up at that. "Dobby likes socks! Socks of different colours! Dobby will go to Bad Master's house right now!"

"Dobby wait! You're not going alone."

Harry stood up from his seat, looking at Dumbledore. "We need a plan. Portkeys and apparition are out of the picture. That means someone must go with Dobby. I doubt you'll let me go."

"Your doubts are facts, Harry." Dumbledore said with a smile, and stood up to walk towards the cabinets at the far end of his office. He opened the last cabinet on his left, and pulled out a long thin rectangular box- much like the ones Harry had seen at Ollivander's shop. Harry's interest spiked and he wondered if this was Dumbledore's secret weapon. To his disappointment, Dumbledore did not open the box; he merely set it in front of him on his desk.

"Something to be revealed when I return Harry. It is a Potter family heirloom, and before you ask, it was not given to me by your parents. I won it from the wizard Magical History remembers as the predecessor of Lord Voldemort. It is mine by right of conquest, but I feel time has come that it must be returned to its rightful owner. However, that is for later, perhaps an incentive for me to return to the castle safely."

"What do you mean return- you don't think you're going to Malfoy Manor alone, do you?" Harry asked incredulously.

Dumbledore looked amused, a soft smile on his lips. It was perhaps fifty years since someone had taken up that tone with him. He found he did not mind it in the slightest. "Is there something wrong with that Harry? Despite the recent magical prowess you have shown, I will never have another's night sleep if I took you with me, because as much as it may seem otherwise, I have learnt to care for you a lot. Besides, you are in far too much danger as it is. In all modesty, unless you know someone as proficient at stealth charms than the headmaster of Hogwarts, I doubt we'll have another candidate."

Harry stared at the headmaster in wonder. It felt strange knowing that Dumbledore cared for him. He wondered if the headmaster was messing with his head, before remembering the tears he had witnessed before lunch. He put the thought away in his mind for later, focussing on the current debate. "You can't go alone. If something happens to you- what then? The school can't lose a headmaster in the middle of the Tournament. For all we know- and we know none too much, you'll find Lord Voldemort himself there. You could always take someone else with you...Moody! That's it! Why don't you take Moody? He's a damn good auror. He's the one who captured Lucius Malfoy the last time."

Dumbledore only smiled sagely at him in return. "If this is care I see in your eyes Harry, and especially for someone who has wronged you so much, then I believe I am yet to see a heart greater than yours. However, worry not young Harry; I doubt I shall leave today. We do need a plan, and I believe your friend Dobby knows the place inside out."

Harry breathed a sigh of relief at that. He decided he would lend Riddle's memories of Malfoy Manor too. He waited calmly as Dobby and Anaiah together created an extremely detailed map of the manor, highlighting the way to the dungeons. When they were done, Harry added his own intricate knowledge of the wards, the traps and tricks of the Manor. True, his knowledge was fifteen years old at best, but it helped the Headmaster anticipate possible points for expected traps. Besides Harry had little reason to doubt, and the Headmaster agreed with him on it, that Lucius Malfoy would have changed his security over the years.

Dumbledore, as expected, was highly surprised with Harry's intricate knowledge of the Manor, and some of the traps that delved not so subtly into dark Magic. He voiced his concerns, but Harry told him that he may one day share his source of information with the headmaster, but not then. It was too soon for him to be able to trust the headmaster again. Dumbledore had the good grace to accept his answer, though he did give Harry a long look.

It took them a few exhausting hours, and by the time they finished, it was time for dinner.

"That seems to be all of it, then. Harry, if you don't mind, I would like to borrow your cloak."

"But I thought you didn't need one?" Harry asked, partially protective of his father's cloak, and partially confused at the headmaster's request.

"And you are right in thinking so, Harry. But the truth is, your cloak is not just a simple cloak of invisibility. At this point, that is all I shall tell you. When I return, I will explain it to you, I promise. I'll let you know when there is any progress. I'll let Moody and a few others know of the plan, not the reasons, of course, rest assured Miss Malfoy- your secret is quite safe with me," he added at the uncertain look on Anaiah's face. "We'll be keeping watch over the house for a couple of days, and then Dobby and I shall breach the Manor.

"Also, Miss Malfoy, if you would stay behind for the Veritaserum. I do hope you will excuse an old man his precautions, but in the approaching dark times, I have much to answer for..."

Harry stood there for a frustrating moment, then wished the Headmaster and Anaiah a good night and left with Hermione.

The Great Hall was filled with students eating their dinner, some chatting noisily. When Harry and Hermione reached the Gryffindor table, they were immediately approached by Ron. Harry did groan this time. He'd had enough nerve wracking conversations for one day. And Ron didn't exactly look like the Harbinger of Cheerful news.

"I want to talk to you, Harry. I'd like to apologise if only you would give me the chance to." His ears were red, and Harry knew he was embarrassed. But his capacity was full. He'd begun the day with a rather lovely chat with Hermione, then after being harassed by students, he'd had an exciting announcement of results, followed by an intriguing talk with Anaiah Malfoy. When she was done, Professor Dumbledore had proved to be quite the omen of mother-of-all headaches. Leaving the headmaster's office, he'd had a repeat harassment session with Rita Skeeter and company, and then an extremely annoying conversation with Lucius Malfoy himself, who had managed to turn a rather pleasant day into a rather nasty one. His next conversation with Anaiah Malfoy wasn't very soothing too, and their plans for the rescue attempt into Malfoy Manor were quite extensive, which had taken another bout of mental exploits.

All together, Harry wasn't in the best of chatty-moods, and Ron's tone wasn't exactly what Harry had in mind for a peaceful end to the day. Harry turned around to face his ex-friend. "What is your problem?"

That broke Ron out of his tracks. "What is my problem? What is _your_ problem? I tried apologising this morning, but you walked away like you were the bloody Minister of Magic! I know what I did was wrong, but ever since you-"

"You want me to accept your apology? Is that it? Fine! You're forgiven. Now go bother someone else. I've had a rather long and tiring day." With that Harry turned around to face his dinner, leaving a very embarrassed and sputtering red faced Ronald Weasley to glare at the back of his head. Their little argument had attracted quite the attention, and Ron left the Great Hall without having finished his dinner.

Harry attacked his dinner with as much grace as he could, looking at Hermione once, to find her staring back at him. "What?"

Hermione blushed and looked away. When Harry prompted her, she shook her head. "It's just...you've changed, Harry. A few months ago, you would have taken Ron right back in, _without_ an apology."

Harry didn't know what to say to that. He knew she was right though, he _was_ changing, partially because of the Dark Lord's weirdness inside his head, and partially because of his life being in constant danger. "We're both changing, Hermione. Let's just hope it's for the better."

* * *

It had been three days since Harry had had made plans with Dumbledore. Coincidentally, it had been three days since he had seen any sign of Anaiah Malfoy, and Harry had started to worry. He was afraid something had happened to her. Maybe someone had overheard her telling them her twisted secrets, and reported back to the Dark Lord, who'd taken quick and fatal action. Or maybe Lucius Malfoy had pulled her out of Hogwarts. Harry didn't see how that one would work out, with the Tournament being a binding magical contract. Harry was thinking that is she didn't show up by Tuesday, he would ask Malfoy about it.

He'd received word from Dumbledore the day before that the protections around the house were minimal, and that it would be a relatively easy task, an 'in and out' situation. The only difficulty would be in getting the job done without attracting attention to it right then. Once they had secured Anaiah's mother, hell itself could be raised within the Malfoy household and they wouldn't care. Harry had been surprised. What he knew of Lucius Malfoy, and none of it was good, he had expected the place to be Fort Knox. Maybe he had transferred all of his shady activities to the new property he had purchased, where the Dark Lord probably resided right now.

As he towelled himself dry after a warm morning shower, he wondered about the Golden Egg, and consequently the 'thing he'd miss the most'. The mermish had been easy to get, once Harry had consulted Lord Voldemort's memories. The Dark Lord had had a lot of negotiations with the merfolk of the Black Sea, who held quite a horde of underwater magic in their possession. If Harry's guess was right, something was about to happen to his wand, his cloak, or his best friend. And if it turned out to be his best friend, he was going to get _very_ angry. And lately, that hadn't proved to be such a good thing.

He walked out of the washrooms, finishing dressing up, sharing awkward silence with Ron, who refused to look at him. Harry knew at some point he was going to have to forgive Ron, since the redhead's IQ wasn't high enough for Harry to expect that he'd understand the gravity of what he had done. But Harry doubted he'd be able to trust Ron Weasley the way he used to.

Harry was also getting rather disturbed with Ron's growing aggressiveness towards Hermione. Only the other day, Ron had, in front of the whole common room, accused Hermione of 'filling Harry's head with stupid thoughts about his other friends'. Hermione had let him know in no uncertain terms what she thought about his accusations, but Harry hadn't been satisfied. To tell the truth, Harry wouldn't have been satisfied until he would have been allowed to cast a ' _Fulminus'_ on Ron, but that was neither here nor there.

Ron wasn't the only one who had been showing an increasing interest in Hermione, much to Harry's dismay. Victor Krum had been quite insistent in getting to know Hermione, and had very publically asked Hermione to accompany him on a walk around the castle. To Harry's annoyance, Hermione had accepted. He had tried to console and placate himself by telling himself that she had done it just to be polite, but it hadn't eased the anger in his heart. A very blushing Hermione had later told Harry that Krum had been asking all sorts of silly and personal things, her likes and dislikes, and the sort. Harry had been of half a mind to shove Krum's wand up a rather private orifice and cast the 'fire patronus' spell he had been recently working on to let Krum know how he felt about the entire matter. Maybe a stag made of fire running free though his rectum would discourage the Bulgarian seeker from inviting Hermione on further walks around the castle.

Harry had been surprised at the flare of jealousy he had felt over the incident. Then when it had reared its ugly head again and again every time a boy tried to talk to Hermione, Harry had realised what it was. He had known he had feelings for Hermione, but the depth of those feelings had left Harry stunned. If he were to be honest, it scared him to think she held so much power over him.

As he descended the stairs, book back slung over his left shoulder, he found an agitated Hermione pacing at the bottom of the stairs. Harry smiled in greeting, and her returning smile was terse. Harry reached her, brow furrowed.

She held out the _Daily Prophet_ as means of explanation. He took it, scanning the front page with growing dread. On the front page, in big bold black letters was the headline- 'Harry Potter's miserable Love life!'

Harry began groaning before his eyes reached the end of the headline. "Oh God, not again. I'm going to kill her."

"She's not the only person _I_ want to kill. Read on Harry."

Harry was surprised at the anger in Hermione's voice; usually she was the one telling him to ignore Rita Skeeter's rather inaccurate articles. Harry decided to see what had her calm demeanour in such a twist.

' _Love these days, as much I wish otherwise, dear readers, is quite a fickle thing. And when it comes to the life of our own Eptan-Wizard Tournament Champion Harry Potter, love gets more complicated than the average witch or wizard can handle. My readers will remember from the previously reported interview of Harry Potter that our youngest champion claimed to be quite inactive in the field of romance. Well, I'm here to tell you- they were all lies. Yes, dear readers, Harry Potter has been lying to us all about his love life._

 _I myself have seen the wizard in the company of a certain witch at all times, and have recently uncovered a source that is as close to our Harry as it gets. It would seem that the extraordinarily pretty Gryffindor fourth year witch, Hermione Granger, whom Mr Potter claimed to be a very good friend, is much more than that. "They've been inseparable ever since Harry jumped on the back of a twelve-foot mountain troll in our first year. It has been more than three years since then, and I'm yet to see one of them without the other. It's a surprise, since being around Granger is quite a task, she's constantly belittling others with her academic abilities, and when she's not buried in a book, she's constantly nagging Harry to finish his homework. She has him wrapped around her little finger," says Ronald Wendy, Harry Potter's best male friend, who's known Harry Potter literally since the moment he stepped on the Hogwarts express. Harry Potter jumping on the back of a twelve-foot mountain troll to save the life of a witch? Now isn't that every witch's dream come true?_

 _However, it has also come to my attention, that young Miss Granger has grabbed the attention of the Durmstrang champion and famous Quidditch seeker Victor Krum. The two of them were spotted having a rather pleasant walk around the shores of the Hogwarts Black Lake. They seemed rather comfortable and cosy, despite Miss Granger's ongoing relationship with Harry. Does Miss Granger have a taste for fame and Quidditch? If so then my heart goes out to our Harry, and I hope Miss Granger would stop playing with the hearts of our favourite young men, who already have too much to worry about, and certainly do not need infidelity to bother themselves with._

 _We also have accounts...'_

Harry couldn't believe what he was reading. He was seeing red. If Ron Weasley had shown his appearance then, Harry would have tested just how mush red was in the stupid piece of dragon-dung. He looked at Hermione, she looked somewhat miserable.

"There's more Harry. She somehow got her filthy hands on what you and Malfoy talked about."

"What?"

Harry's blood froze, as he raced down the article, through Pansy Parkinson's claims of Hermione using a love potion on Krum and him, and Draco Malfoy's pretty ridiculous claims of Hermione using an ' _Imperio'_ on him- a 'pureblood of high social standing, led astray by the muggleborn witch's selfish influence'. There it was. All of it. As if the bloody woman had been standing right next to them.

 _'...when I came upon Lucius Malfoy, Harry Potter and the Beauxbatons champion Anaiah Malfoy, who also happens to be the daughter of the former wizard, engaged in what seemed to be a rather exciting conversation. It was quite an unusual company, and I found myself quite curious. My curiosity turned into revulsion as I heard the contents of their discussion. I would advise my readers to read ahead at their own discretion, as the following news is of a rather "indelicate" nature, and Lucius Malfoy has been known to be unconcerned with delicacy. Hard it may be to believe, but Lucius Malfoy, recently removed from the Hogwarts Board of Governors for reasons unclear, and close advisor to our own Minister of Magic, was offering his very own daughter to young Mr Potter, who is barely over fifteen years of age, in order to settle a 'life-debt' owed by Anaiah Malfoy to Harry Potter. My readers would remember the extremely thrilling events of the First task, in which Harry Potter not only defeated four fully grown dragons, but also, and quite heroically might I add, saved the life of Lucius Malfoy's daughter, who had fallen victim to the Chinese Fireball's attack._

 _My readers will be very pleased to know that the Boy-Who-Lived is a person of sound moral character, despite the company he keeps. He flat out refused Lucius Malfoy's scarlet offer, and asked the wizard to 'have some shame'._

 _The discussion henceforth turned quite heated, and it makes me proud to say that our champion held his ground, and refused to bow down to Lucius Malfoy's wishes. Once Mr Malfoy had left, Harry comforted the understandably distraught witch, and promised her that he wouldn't cash in the life debt and that he was quite happy with the relationship he had with his 'very good friend'._

 _Concluding this rather alarming article, I would only question the motives and efficiency of the old coot Headmaster Dumbledore and ...'_

Harry felt like his blood was boiling. It was a cliché expression he had often heard, but he really felt as if his body was exhaling heat, he was so angry. So many people to kill- Ron Weasley, Draco Malfoy, Pansy Parkinson, Rita Skeeter, Lucius Malfoy...the list had begun at the end of last term, when Harry had seen the things Riddle's followers had done following his orders. Now, the list wouldn't stop growing. Well, he wasn't really going to kill Ron, Draco or Pansy, but Rita Skeeter was another matter. Harry was as private a person as they came, and seeing such blatant violation of his precious privacy was so infuriating to him, it was a fortunate event that Rita Skeeter was not present in the common room, or Harry would have drawn blood.

The other reason for his raised temper was seeing Hermione upset, and knowing Ron had been involved in some way. He was going to have a chat with Ron, a rather violent chat. He glanced at Hermione, who appeared visibly upset.

"Are you angry?"

She gave him a look that said ' _do you even have to ask'_.

Harry sighed. "I mean, are you angry at me? Because I'm really sorry for dragging you into this. Trust me; she's writing crap about this relationship business. I never said a word of it. If you want, I can press charges. I don't have a lawyer right now, but I think Professor Dumbledore can arrange one. I'll have her write an apology-"

"Harry! Harry stop right there! Why would I be angry at you, you dolt? The only person I'd like to give a piece of my mind is that vile woman and Ron Weasley. I'll throttle the air-headed idiot, until he turns purple. And as for pressing charges, don't go to any trouble on my account, in fact, I think you should drop the idea Harry. It's a waste of time and resources, not to say it will make us look petty."

"Are you sure? I mean, you're my best friend Hermione; it will be no trouble at all. It's the least I can do for you. I can have her bound and gagged, wrapped in a sack at your feet in no time."

Hermione's heart warmed at his words, and she stared at him for a silent moment in adoration. "Bound and gagged, wrapped in a sack. Seriously Harry?" She smiled at him, and when he smiled back, her anger ebbed away.

Unfortunately, Ron chose that moment to make his entry in the room, and the smug look that appeared in his eyes at the sight of the morning paper clutched in Harry's hand infuriated Harry to no end. "Hey Wendy!" Harry called out to Ron, remembering the misspelled name Rita had used in her article.

"Harry don't-"

Harry ignored Hermione's warning, and continued in a very calm tone. "Better watch yourself around the castle. You know Hogwarts, there's always an accident waiting around the corner, or a giant acromantula. At the rate you're going, you'll never know when you might find yourself in the middle of an acromantula nest."

Ron turned red at the mention of his misspelled name, and was about to open his mouth to retaliate, when Harry's comment about the acromantula nest reached his ears. He turned for a moment, as if there was something he wanted to say to Harry, before turning around in a huff and leaving the Gryffindor tower.

"One day soon, he'll overstep the line, and he's not going to like what's on the other side of the line." Harry murmured to Hermione.

"Ignore him, Harry. That's what he deserves."

"Come on, Hermione, we need to see if Anaiah is around. She'll be devastated with this. Dear God! I can't even begin to imagine how humiliating this must be for her. I'm starting to think something bad has happened to her."

Hermione thought about it for a few moments, as they walked out of the common room together, towards the Great Hall. "I wouldn't worry Harry. We haven't seen Professor Dumbledore too. And though it's common for him to disappear for days on end, I think they're together, maybe studying Malfoy Manor. She'll be alright Harry."

Harry nodded, choosing to trust Hermione's take on the matter.

"So how do you think she's doing it? Skeeter. Do you think its invisibility cloaks and silencing spells?"

Hermione's brow furrowed, eyes focused on something faraway in deep concentration. When she next spoke, it was in the Great Hall, and by then Harry had served both of them their breakfast, knowing what Hermione preferred in the mornings. "Harry, I think you should keep the Map with you at all times. I mean, even if she is using invisibility cloaks, and I doubt she is, she's bound to show up on the Map."

Harry thought it was a brilliant idea, and let her know so, receiving a smile from her in return for the compliment. They ate their breakfast in relative silence, and Harry tried to ignore the whispers and the stares pointed his way. He had to irately tell off Dean when the Gryffindor asked him if he had been daft enough to refuse the chance of getting his hands on a hot bird like Anaiah. His furious tone made sure that no one else bothered asking him the same question again. It had only served to remind him of Anaiah's continued absence.

When a giggling Parvati approached Hermione and Harry with the article about Krum, he decided the next person to disturb them was going to the infirmary. With a severely burnt backside that would make sitting very uncomfortable for at least a week.

That next person turned out to be Professor McGonagall. Harry decided that he would make an exception for Professors. She had been instructed by Professor Dumbledore to pass on a message. "The headmaster has told me to pass on the message Mr Potter, that your friend and the house-elf are with him. He also said that due to an unforeseeable incident occurring, they were going ahead with the 'plan' today. According to his estimation, by the time you get this message, he would already be in the thick of things.

"Not that it is any of my concern, may I ask, Mr Potter, as to what this 'plan' you have concocted with the headmaster? My only concern is that no one gets injured; it would do further harm to the school's reputation, not to mention the headmaster's, if the head of the school was unable to attend a major Tournament event because of his own private matters."

"I'm really sorry Professor, but it is not my story to share. However I can tell you this, that the headmaster is attempting a fairly dangerous task."

McGonagall looked at Harry for a moment, before nodding stiffly. "Very well, Mr Potter. The headmaster asked me to tell you to wait in his office, and remind you of his fondness for _Shyahi Toast_."

When she had left, Harry turned to Hermione, the worry evident on his face. Before he could voice his concerns, she took his hand in hers. "Don't worry Harry. It's Dumbledore against a bunch of dark lord wannabes. Nothing untoward is going to happen."

Harry nodded, and after hurriedly finishing their breakfast, the two Gryffindors left for the Headmaster's office.

* * *

Malfoy Manor was a Manor in every definition of the word. It was a large white circular building, with splashes of French and Roman architecture all over. There were large French Windows all around the Manor, and the first floor had a lavish porch in front of every French window. The lush gardens that spread as far as the boundary wall of the Manor grounds were full of exotic plants, most of them blooming with flowers, and many of them magical in nature. Proud peacocks roamed the gardens without fear, and as Albus Dumbledore crouched behind a broad tree trunk, wrapped under an invisibility cloak, he saw an albino peafowl, strut proudly around the extensive gardens.

Malfoy Manor was under a very thorough and extensive set of wards, half of them border-line dark in nature. Dumbledore had been expecting worse, but it had turned out that Lucius had slacked off in the years of the Dark Lord's absence. Maybe it had something to do with the lack of threats he faced now days. Not that he had faced many earlier. There were, of course, other advanced wards around the property, and Dumbledore had recognized them easily. That had been the easy part. Basic versions of those wards were available all over the Wizarding world, around almost every Magical private property.

There had been a very special and very hostile warding scheme however, that Dumbledore had encountered only thrice in his life so far, and to the best of his knowledge, it had been invented by a Russian Dark Lord named Evsei Agron, who had risen to power in nineteen sixty eight. Dumbledore was impressed that Lucius had influence as far as Brighton Beach, where Agron had flourished before mysteriously disappearing two years before Lord Voldemort's fall.

It had taken Dumbledore the better part of three hours to lift the ward long enough for him, Dobby and Moody to slip underneath it. It was a trick Dumbledore had developed in the war against Grindelwald. Instead of breaking through wards as most attackers preferred, Dumbledore had developed a method to bypass them entirely. Using a portion f his raw magic, he would create an exact duplicate of the warding scheme he had to bypass along with its magical signature, and then getting underneath it, would allow it to connect to the original ward. It was like trapping oneself inside a bubble, and then merging that same bubble with a much larger bubble. Once the wards had connected, the caster could then collapse the common tendrils of the two wards, and just like that, the caster would be inside the wards. Unfortunately, it was a very taxing process, not to mention equally time consuming. Besides, duplicating magical signatures was a nigh impossible task, and Dumbledore knew of only four men in existence that could do it. Usually, he could use Fawkes to similar effect, but it wasn't the most subtle of ways, and this required all the subtlety Dumbledore could manage.

"The years have been very kind to this filth." Moody muttered beside him wrapped in Harry's cloak of invisibility. Dumbledore couldn't help but agree with him. Resting his head against the tree, Dumbledore took a much needed breath. He wondered how far Dobby had reached, and whether the elf would be able to take care of the elves inside the Manor.

He understood the gravity of what he was doing. If they were caught, not only would it mean five months in Azkaban, but there was also a tiny possibility, that Lucius Malfoy might convince the Minister to order a questioning under Veritaserum, and _that_ would lead to nothing but disaster. It would put young Miss Malfoy in grave danger, not to mention Harry himself. The young lad could do with a break. Dumbledore felt a wave of shame and remorse hit him as he remembered Harry's accusations, but he suppressed them ruthlessly down, knowing now wasn't the time. Another outcome, and Dumbledore was always worried about this one, was that his ward-lifting trick would come to light. As the prosecuting party, Lucius Malfoy would be within his rights to demand to know how Albus Dumbledore had managed to enter his property without alerting the wards. Once the truth got out, there would be frenzy in the populace, and everyone would try to accomplish what Dumbledore had. Many would succeed, of course. No one under anything less than a Fidelius would be safe, and the Fidelius was closely guarded secret few men knew, and fewer could cast.

They had to act fast. They had been watching the Manor for three days now, and they were well versed with the comings and goings of known supporters of the Dark Lord. The Manor was frequented by Augustus Rookwood, Yaxley, Robin Donhardt, Vincent Crabbe, Goyle Sr., and of course, the owner of the Manor- Lucius Malfoy. They were all powerful wizards, with the exception of Goyle Sr., and would all make for very formidable opponents. Dumbledore was confident he could take them down, but it was a risk he would rather avoid.

Dumbledore ordered Moody to stay on guard, and started towards the white building. It was a lavish work of architecture, done in marble and magically enhanced limestone, with a skeleton of wood and mortar. Albus mused internally at the amount of galleons it would have cost Malfoy, before mentally comparing the building to the Manor he had bought yesterday. The results weren't very pleasing.

He faced no trouble in reaching the brown cherry-wood doors. The doors had been thrown wide open as soon as the sun had risen, and would be closed at eleven in the night. Dumbledore crept silently up the three steps that led inside the building. He found himself facing a luxuriously furnished rectangular entrance hall, which had four doors out of it. The two on the far end were closed shut, while the two near him were wide open.

The walls were painted in Slytherin colours, and the upholstery was a rich gold in colour. The hall was decorated with a beautiful chandelier, and the sunlight from the French windows was reflected at every possible angle to all corners of the room. Most of the walls were covered in portraits of wizards and witches, one or two Albus recognized. The others were Malfoy ancestors, and there was one of Lucius Malfoy himself, with the Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge. Some of them were sharing frames, conversing amongst themselves, while some were dozing off. Dumbledore recognized the peril he was in. If even one of the portraits' suspicions were aroused, he would be in deep trouble.

He crept along the edge of the hall, making sure not to step on the carpet and leave an indentation in the plush Persian carpets. At every seven steps, he would cast a scanning spell to alert him of any possible wards. So far he'd found none.

As soon as he had that thought, his wand vibrated. A scan had returned positive. He scanned his surroundings with the tiniest of sighs, and trying to stay as immobile as possible, began to work on the intruder alerting ward. Time was running out, and so he decided to dismantle the thing.

It took him a few minutes of overly cautious spell work, but by the time he was finished, there wasn't any trace of the ward. Taking a few deep breaths to maintain his sense of silence, he moved on. According to his scans, the only area inside the walls of the Manor which was warded was the path that led to the dungeons. The rest of the house was a normal Wizarding home, albeit an extremely rich Wizarding home.

The rest of his way passed with relative ease, though it was every bit time consuming as bypassing the initial and main wards had been. At every few feet he had to check his path for wards and traps. He came across another intruder ward, and a repellent ward, both of which he dismantled. From the moment he had entered the building, he had a time window of one hour. That one hour was running out like free Firewhisky in the Hog's Head. As he reached the staircase that led to the dungeons, he came across the first signs of trouble. The staircase led _into_ a circular hole in the Manor walls. The hole was guarded by an iron wrought gate, which was bolted shut. Inside the dungeons, as far as Albus could see, was total darkness. But that was not the trouble. The trouble was the unknown East Asian wizard sitting on the stool, wand clutched in hand, looking _right_ at Dumbledore.

His instincts flared, alarm bells ringing in his head. The wizard was looking at him, he was sure of it. He stood stone still, still enough to pass of as a statue or a gargoyle, and prayed. The wizard kept on looking into his eyes. After a few tense moments, the wizard lowered his eyes to Dumbledore's feet, and Albus realized he hadn't actually seen him.

"Whoever there is, better show yourself." Dumbledore felt like cursing. He'd been so careful, but it seemed he had slipped. And wherever he had slipped, this man had caught onto him. "I felt your scanning pulse of magic, you know, so I know you are there. Show yourself, or I will trigger the rune stone. And I can bet you don't know the counter curse to a Sectumsempra."

He pulled out a circular stone from his pocket, and Dumbledore cursed mentally as wildly as he had cursed a few times in his youth. Ancient magic again. A Wargis rune stone. This place was going to be the end of him. The Wargis rune stone was an ancient piece of magical craftsmanship. They were started by the Persian prophets, as means of warding their treasure hordes against thieves. Every guard that stood guard inside a warding scheme carried a Wargis rune stone. The Wargis rune stone was connected to the main wards, and was crafted such that if the holder triggered the rune stone, it would send out a pulse of magic which would be used to cast a curse of the crafter's choice on any one inside the wards not signed into the wards.

It was an inventive bit of magic, incredibly difficult to cast, because the more tricky the wards, the more magic the rune-stone would have to hold. Plus, the rune stone would also hold the magic of the curse. All this magic rendered a small piece of stone rather delicate. With the advancement of Runes, Arthimancy and Wards, the Wargis rune stone had fallen out of practice and Dumbledore had last encountered the blasted things while on an educative trip to Serbia, seventy years ago.

The Wizard stood up, and under the cover of silencing charms he had cast on his boots, Dumbledore took a few steps back on the hard marble floor. The Wizard took a few steps in Dumbledore's direction, before glancing towards both ends of the corridor they were in. Dumbledore felt a bead of sweat race down his left temple and into his beard, and just as the wizard was about to trigger the rune stone, Dumbledore struck. His wand slashed as he cast a Persian stunner, choosing to flow with his surroundings. The guard had no chance.

He dropped like a stone. Dumbledore levitated the corpse-like body back onto the stool, choosing to let him rest for a few moments. He debated between memory charms and a modified confundus. While a memory charm had higher chances of being detected, especially by a Legilimens as skilled as the Dark Lord, a confundus charm could be worn away easily.

There was another troubling facet to the guard's nationality. It might or might not mean that Riddle was recruiting wizards from abroad. If he wasn't, then all the more better, but if he was, it spelled nothing but the destruction of everything the Wizarding society of England held precious.

He decided to check on the woman he had come for first. The Asian certainly wasn't going anywhere. Casting a ' _Silencio'_ on the bolt and the hinges each, Albus pulled the latch back, before gently pushing the door open. He stepped into the dark chamber, casting a _'Homenum Revelio'_ as he did so. There was only one person in the room, apart from Dumbledore himself.

" _Lumos Maxima,"_ he muttered silently, and a small globe of white light shot out of his wand to hover above him. The Dungeon was done in bricks and unpolished cement, possibly to make the living conditions of any poor creature living here as miserable as possible. The smell of damp and decay permeated the cold air, and in the eerie silence of the room, he could hear a tittering sound. It slowly dawned on him that somewhere in the dungeons, someone was shivering and the sound was of their teeth chattering.

He hurried to the end of the dungeons, the sphere of light following him around like a miniature sun. At the end of the dark room, he found a small number of cells, and in the last cell, lying on a mattress sewn out of torn and dirty sacks, was the ugliest woman he had ever seen in his one hundred and forty five years. At first, Dumbledore couldn't really see her, in the dim light, but as soon as the globe of light reached Dumbledore's shoulder, it threw her face in sharp contrast. Her skin was as pale as chalk, but that wasn't what scared the living daylights out of Albus Dumbledore.

Her face, leaning out of the darkness so suddenly, framed by a mop of long dark hair did it though. The skin on the right side of her face had been burned so badly, it now resembled dough. It reminded him of the first time he had had to prepare dough for his siblings, after his mother's death. It had taken him a only one try to realise that Albus Dumbledore was a lot of things, but he wasn't a good cook. It looked like layers upon layers of thin skin had been heaped upon her face, in all sorts of haphazard manner. Where there should have been the sharp indentation of her forehead into her right eye socket, there was a flat expanse of skin marred by thin wrinkly lines. She didn't have a right eye. Her head looked like a ball of wet clay that had fallen to the ground and dried there- one side flat forever. Her left eye socket wasn't much better, but for a small miracle done upon her by some angel watching over her, she at least _had_ a left eye. One that was working.

She didn't have a nose either, all she had were two holes for nostrils, and another for a mouth. Fortunately, her lower jaw could move, and from the defined jaw line Albus could see on the left side of her jaw, he guessed that she must have been a woman of great beauty in her youth, before the vermin that owned this place had managed to sink its claws into her. She didn't have any hair on the right side of her head, nor did she have a left ear, only another small hole that led to her inner ear.

Dumbledore could only imagine the pain she must have gone through, to be burned so badly right out of child-labour.

She was looking up at him, expecting to be berated and abused, and after a few moments to be given a paltry meal the likes of which she wouldn't feed the house-elves that worked on her father's farm. How she missed her father, and the warm embraces of her mother! But most of all, she missed her little Ana. She'd given birth to such a beautiful baby, and she'd grown to be such an astounding young woman, it brought tears in her eye whenever she thought of her.

"Miss Mallory?" His voice echoed in the darkness, and he remembered that time was running out.

The voice was gentle and soft, elderly. It reminded her of her father's deep timbre. How he'd call her from the fields when it was raining, knowing how much she loved the rain! She looked up, into a blinding source of light that hurt her eyes slightly.

"Miss Arrith Mallory?"

She nodded dumbly, her body devoid of enough strength to do anything else.

"I'm here to take you away. Your daughter has sent me Miss Mallory. You're going to be safe now."

"Ana? My Ana?" her voice reminded Albus of so many things he'd given up in his life, so many sacrifices he had made, that he couldn't resist the helpless sigh that slipped past his lips. But it was the expression on her faceless head, in her remaining black eye that brought the wetness in his eyes. It was relief, as if every time she said her daughter's name, a wave of peace swept through her.

A long time ago, Dumbledore remembered, he himself had a daughter to call by her cherished name. Realizing he was getting sidetracked, he scolded himself mentally, and crouched in front on the woman.

"Yes Miss Mallory, your daughter Anaiah has sent me. I'm going to take you away to a safe place, where your daughter is waiting for you. But I need you to cooperate with me. I'll be casting a few charms on you to get you out of here, nothing major, a silencing spell, an immobilizing spell, and a disillusionment spell. You must not panic, or make any noise. Can you do that for me?"

The woman stared at the light in silence. For a moment Albus wondered if she was sane enough to understand him. "Where's my Ana?" She spoke in a whisper.

 _Of course_. Dumbledore wondered if he had taken a stupidity potion this morning for all the idiocy he was showing. Ana had warned him that her mother wouldn't be perfectly coherent. She had managed to establish contact with her mother with Dobby's help, and she had discovered her mother was slightly delirious, a result of dehydration and starvation.

"Forgive me Miss."

Dumbledore cast the stunning spell first, followed by the _'Petrificus Totalus'._ He bound her with soft silken ropes, ending the preparation with special invisibility and stealth spells. She was invisible to the rest of the world, but Dumbledore could see her bright as day. Once she was done, Dumbledore softly murmured, "Locomotor Mulier."

The invisible witch slowly levitated upwards. Taking a deep breath, Dumbledore levitated the witch slowly out of the cell, and extinguishing the globe of light floating over his shoulder, he exited the dungeons. As he climbed the stairs, wand fixed on the woman only he could see, he encountered the unconscious guard. Pulling a second wand from within his robes, Dumbledore decided upon memory modifications.

It was a risky bit of magic with Lord Voldemort involved in the equation, and it took every bit of Dumbledore's expertise to do it satisfactorily. When he was done, he pocketed his extra wand, before turning around and leading the floating woman as silently as he had arrived. Half an hour later, when the guard would wake, he would remember dozing off at work, and pray like crazy that his employer hadn't bothered checking up on him.

As soon as he had reached the Entrance Hall, he found himself facing a pacing Augustus Rookwood. _Trouble again,_ he mused. He stood stock still again, knowing that his one hour had run out. He doubted Rookwood could get the better of him in a duel, but if he called for backup, and Albus knew he would, it would become too risky, especially when he had a disabled woman with him.

He stood stone still for more than fifteen minutes, during which Augustus was joined by Yaxley, both of whom were murmuring amongst themselves, tones too hushed for Albus to make anything out. His joints had begun to ache now, a dull burning sensation infused in them, but he dared not move. The human mind had a chilling ability to tell when someone was near, and Albus did not want to test that ability in a situation like this.

Another fifteen minutes later, the two men left, and breathing a sigh of relief, Dumbledore left the hall at a brisk pace. He did not care about anyone hearing him, for his patience had run out, and besides, he doubted anyone could manage to- his stealth charms were incredibly powerful.

Sometimes, it was good to be Albus Dumbledore.

He met up with Alastor behind the same tree they had hid behind earlier. He tapped the trunk thrice with his wand before murmuring, "I'm here. I have her."

He heard a familiar grunt. "What the ruddy hell took you so long? I was shitting bricks here, wondering if some dumb piece of filth had managed to get Albus Dumbledore to kick the bucket."

Albus chuckled. "Alastor, even after all these years, you still haven't learnt the tongue of gentlefolk. I suppose some things aren't meant to change."

"Yeah, well quit being all high and mighty and get on with it. I never thought I'd miss the bunch of wild idiots I'm forced to call students, but a day out in this raucous sun- where's a barrel of Goblin Rum when you need one?"

Dumbledore smiled as he began the process of slipping underneath the wards again.

A long three and a half hours later, there were two gentle pops in the air, as two wizards and a floating lady left the vicinity of Watford.


	7. Holy Water

Author's notes- So the other day, I realized that Fanfic authors reply to reviews in thier notes-um, I thought I should too...if it is smoething that everyone does and I havent been doing, well I'm sorry...those who I didnt mention in the following answers- I thank you still, I appreciate you spending your time reading my fic and posting a review.

firetemplar415- that's painful even in writing.

Deathday Party Planner- I have the same concerns about the harem thing, but I think I've got a plan.

Red Phoenix Dragon- your reviews are always wonderful. And this is the real Moody.

OoOXylionOoO, Vegasman59, ObsessedWithHpFanFic, vyooom, oghren...and all the others. thankyou.

The Great RapGod Marshall Mathews once said something along the lines of- 'if you are half as good as your songs you can sacrifice virgins too.' Using that same principle, I'd like to find out if my fanfic is good enough for my readers to sacrifice virgins to me. So pull out your torches and burn some virgins as offerings to me.

On second thought, I'll take pizza.

* * *

They had sat in silence as Dumbledore had finished his tale. It hadn't surprised them much, the ease with which Dumbledore had finished his mission. He _was_ Albus Dumbledore after all. What had surprised Harry was that Dumbledore had already managed to buy the safe-house they had talked just the other day about.

"It's quite dilapidated Harry. It's seen some rough weather, but I don't doubt that together we can all make it a place to call home- a warm hearth for us all to share in the coming storm of darkness." Dumbledore had said when Harry had asked about it. Harry hadn't been too sure about it, but had decided to give Dumbledore the benefit of doubt.

A happy outcome of the whole thing had been that Anaiah had been re-united with her mother. The two witches were already at the safe house, and Harry planned to make sure that Sirius would receive the portkey Dumbledore had given Harry as soon as possible.

But Harry had something else to occupy his mind now. He needed a partner for the Yule Ball. A dance partner- for an actual dance. Being the champion in lead, he had to stand first in the line of champions, along with his _dance partner,_ or as Professor McGonagall had liked to call it, _date_ , and had to open the dance. What utter fuckshit.

Ever since McGonagall had told him the news, a larger-than-before part of his mind had become fixated on Hermione. It had begun like a seed sown deep within the recesses of his heart, and now that seed had bloomed into a tree taller than the Astronomy Tower. He had spent many a nights, tossing and turning, struggling with something new, something he'd never felt before. Sometimes, he would get lucky and would not dream about godforsaken dark lords. Sometimes he would get _really lucky_ and dream about Hermione. He'd wake up feeling guilty, but there was always that undeniable sense of pleasure, like he had seen something worth seeing.

During their classes, he found himself struggling to pay attention to what was being taught. Instead, he was focused more on Hermione, watching her every move, the way she would frown when she came across a stubborn topic, or the way she'd bite her lip when she was deep in thought. He _so_ wanted to bite that lip for her. Her creamy smooth skin was a constant distraction to him, not to mention her face. He could watch that beautiful piece of art all day and not tire of it. But the thing he liked the most about her was who she was, and who she made him when he was around her.

He was pulled from his thoughts when he watched her tuck away a strand of wavy brown behind her ear. She'd tied her hair up in a messy bun, and Harry wished she'd let it go free. She was busy writing an Arthimancy essay. They were sitting in the Gryffindor common room for a change, by the windows. Outside it was raining like the end of the world. Rain in December was unexpected, but Harry wasn't complaining. He'd grown a certain fondness for it since the summer. Besides, it hadn't been that cold for a typical December this year. Classes had ended early when Professor Filtwick had taken ill suddenly. Harry had his runes book open in front of him, but his mind was elsewhere. _Why the hell does she have to take off those damned robes?_

"Harry, I'm headed to the library. I'll be back within the hour." She said, not looking up from the parchment she had been writing furiously on. Harry stood up to follow her.

"Where are you going?" She asked, finally looking at him.

"With you."

"What? Harry what's wrong? You haven't left my side since this morning. You've been acting strange all day- is something the matter?" She asked. Harry cringed on the inside. It was true; he hadn't left her side since the morning, ever since McGonagall had announced the Yule Ball. He was afraid someone would ask her before he could gather the courage to. He had been using his 'Eptan-Wizard Champion look' to keep people away, and it frustrated Harry to no end that despite the best of his efforts, four ruddy boys had managed to ask her. He'd been standing right next to her, and they'd dared to ask her right in front of him! It had been a true test of his patience when even Dean had tried asking her. Fortunately, she had refused them all politely.

But Harry still remembered the blushing Hermione who had returned from a walk around the Lake with Victor Krum. He was afraid that if Victor asked her to the Ball, she wouldn't say no.

"Harry, I asked you something. You've been a bit off all day. Have you been sleeping well?"

"Yes Hermione, I've been sleeping well. Nothing's the matter with me. I needed to look up a book in the library. If you'd rather not go to the library with me, I'll go a few minutes after you."

She looked at him uncertainly, mouth opened just a bit in thought, before nodding slowly. "Fine."

They walked to the library, and Harry felt as nervous as he had felt on the day of the First Task. All along the way, Hermione chatted away merrily about a new spell Harry had been teaching her, but Harry was focused on scaring away any male who dared to even look in their direction.

They reached the library without incident, and Hermione hurried over to find her books, while Harry pretended to look for his. To his horror, as Hermione was looking through the library shelves, Harry saw Victor Krum enter the library.

He whirled around to see Hermione's progress. She held a book in each hand, and one lay open in front of her on the nearest desk. She was in plain sight of Victor, and even as Harry watched in bubbling dread, the Bulgarian seeker spotted her, and began making his way towards her. He had a determined expression on his face, and somehow, Harry knew with grim certainty that he meant to ask her to the ball. For a second, Harry felt slightly helpless; it was like watching a set of dominoes fall on each other. One small stumble- and the entire trail turned to square rubble.

Then that helplessness turned to anger. Something snapped within him. He was _Dragon-Slayer_. He was Harry Potter. What chances did he have against a Dark Lord as powerful as Lord Voldemort if he couldn't ask the girl he seriously liked to a stupid ball? He began moving towards her, but Krum had already reached her. She was too busy with her books to notice him.

Harry made his move. "Victor!" He yelled in the library. Hermione, still aware in some part of her mind of the temple of knowledge she was sitting in, looked up instantly, a cross look on her face, ready to chastise who ever had dared to vandalise the serene atmosphere of her favourite library. Seeing it was Harry, a slightly shocked expression settled on her face. Then she saw Victor Krum standing next to her, and the shock was replaced by confusion.

Krum, surprised, turned around. His face too settled on confusion, and he wondered what Harry wanted with him. The look on Harry's face said it all. To Harry's consternation, Krum _actually_ smiled at him. Harry took a few steps in his direction, and Krum took the rest, coming to meet him in the middle. They weren't out of Hermione's hearing range, but Harry decided it would have to do.

"Potter."

Harry said nothing, choosing to let his eyes do the work. He could feel his magic thrumming against his fingertips, ready to be unleashed. He was definitely _not_ going to lose Hermione to Krum. "You need something, Potter?"

"Stay away from her." His voice was that same cold commanding tone, but if Krum was impressed by it, he only grinned in return. Harry thought he saw a flicker of something in his eyes, but then Krum's face morphed into a mask of cold steel.

"And what if I won't? You are nothing but good friends with her. Tell me, why should I stay away from her?"

Harry resisted the urge to pull out his wand and show Krum exactly why he should stay away from Hermione. Behind him, he sensed the arrival of Madam Irma Pince.

"Who has been shouting in my lib-" Her tirade stopped when she saw the tense atmosphere between Harry and Krum. They were almost nose to nose by now. There wasn't much difference in their heights, and Harry felt grateful for that tender mercy. She stood for a moment in shock, before regaining her wits. "OUT!" She shrieked. "Get OUT! All of you! Out you GO! Not in my library!"

Harry ignored her. Instead, he focused on Krum. "Because. She's mine." He didn't bother keeping his voice low, now that the librarian was already upon them. The librarian yelled her outrage again, and Harry was tempted to remind her that she was the one who was shouting inside her own library now, but instead he chose to walk around Krum, to a gaping Hermione.

Her eyes were wide, lower jaw hanging, and face frozen in shock at the display of male aggressiveness over her. He took the books from her stiff grip, closing them shut and stuffing them back in the nearest shelves without bothering to see if they belonged there. He folded the rough piece of parchment she had brought with her to take notes on and slipped it in the pockets of his school trousers. He took her by the wrists, pulling her up gently. That seemed to pull her out of her shock.

"H-Harry-"

"Not here, Hermione."

He led her past a glaring Victor Krum, who said nothing, but chose to convey his disapproval through his steadfast glares. Hermione turned to look at him as Harry dragged her past him, but didn't say anything. Once they were out of the library, Hermione tried to speak again. "Harry what-"

"Not here, Hermione."

Hermione gave an indignant huff, before picking up her pace to match his, letting him lead her by her wrist. His grip, which had earlier been tight enough to hurt, now relaxed into a gentle grip. Her heart was thudding in her chest like a hippogriff herd as she thought about what had transpired in the library. She'd never thought Harry would call her-

Her thoughts were cut off as she took a look at where they were going. Harry had pulled her to a stop in front of the gates to the Entrance Hall. Outside, the heavens raged in a downpour the likes of which Hogwarts hadn't seen in years. The clouds above were an angry shade of grey and lightning streaked again and again through their dark canvas. It was raining crups and kneazles.

Harry took a look at her- his eyes were full of mischief, something Hermione could have sworn she'd never seen in them before. His emerald green eyes sparkled in the dim daylight flooding through the doorway, and there was a playful smile adorned on his lips. He was looking at her in a challenging fashion, as if daring her to step out into the rain. Hermione's eyes widened even more as she felt him begin to pull her out of the castle.

She ground her heels into the stone floor of the castle, refusing to budge an inch. "HARRY! You can't be serious! Are you daft? It's raining for Merlin's sake! No! I'm NOT COMING with you! I don't want to get sick." She pulled and pulled, trying to wrest her wrist free from his grip, but to no avail. He was adamant.

"Come on Hermione!" He said, the teasing smirk on his face refusing to fade, "When was the last time you did something fun? Don't be a spoil sport- It'll be fun!"

She still shook her head vehemently. "Harry, don't be crazy! I'm not coming. No way! You can go and have your _fun_ , I'm not coming, and that's it!" She pulled again with all her force, trying hard to get away from him.

His smirk faded. "I just want to show you something. Stop being so difficult...Hermione, if you don't come with me willingly right now, I'll put you over my shoulder, and take you outside. Or better, I'll just stun you and levitate you all the way. Your choice."

She glared at him for a long time. They had managed to attract the attention of quite a few students, all of them staring at them, muttering amongst themselves.

"Whatever it is that you have to show me, you can't show it to me when it isn't raining like there's no tomorrow?" She asked angrily.

In reply, Harry let go of her wrist, and took two steps out of the shelter of the castle and into the rain, getting drenched within a few seconds. He ignored Hermione's shrieks to get back into the castle, and shook his head at her in the same vehement manner that she had shaken her moments ago. Facing her, his back to the grounds, he took a few more steps backwards, before turning his back on her.

Harry hoped his ruse would work, that Hermione would follow him. He heard one final shout of his name from her, before the thundering rain drowned out everything again. He kept on walking, praying that she would follow him. His face split open into a grin when he heard the squelching sound of footsteps on the wet muddy grass.

She stopped her short run when she was beside him, speaking loudly to be heard over the rain, "This better be good, Harry, or I'm going to kill you!"

Harry just smiled at her, before taking her hand in his and breaking into a run towards the forbidden forest. She hesitated at first, but then gave in to his wishes, running along with him. She was watching him the whole time, when he wasn't looking at her. She'd never seen him this carefree; eyes alight with joy and mischief. A small part of her felt ecstatic that he would choose her to share this side of him with. They slipped in the mud, and jumped in puddles of water, splashing each other with muddy rain water.

Hermione had to admit, never having any siblings or friends before Hogwarts, she hadn't been the type of person who would do something like this, having _fun_ just for the fun of it. Not caring about catching a cold from the chilled water, or about her homework- which she remembered with a mental groan was still waiting to be finished. She _was_ having fun. The rain water had drenched her to the skin, she was shivering from the cold, there were large splashes of mud all over her skirt, her shoes were all squishy and wet, and she was going to catch a cold- but she was having fun. She was laughing openly, unreservedly, as if she too-like the boy beside her, hadn't a care in the world. For a moment, she could pretend to be a girl who was having harmless childish fun with her best friend.

She decided she would thank Harry for this exercise in stupidity. She had even found herself giggling- and Hermione Granger _did not_ giggle. This was the most fun she had had in a while. But her thoughts took a different track when she saw the forbidden forest looming up in front of her. She pulled on Harry's hand reflexively. He slowed his pace to a walk, looking back at her.

"Come on!" he urged her. "Don't you trust me?"

Of course she did. How dare he suggest otherwise? She squeezed his hand in reply, letting him take the lead again. Along the way, she splashed him with mud again for his impudence, for daring to suggest that Hermione Granger did not trust Harry Potter. When he tried splashing her in return, she merely dodged and let out a peal of laughter.

He stared at her for a minute, amazed. Then they reached the edge of the forest. The dense canopy of the jungle stopped much of the rain from reaching the ground, but still, whatever rain water made through was enough to still feel like they were still out in open ground. She jogged beside him silently, letting him lead her deeper into the forest than she had ever been. Even on her visit with Hagrid in her first year, she'd never been this deep. It surprised her that Harry knew his way this deep into the forest. She was starting to get slightly wary of her surroundings when he pulled her to a stop. She looked around her, and she was stunned.

In front of her, the forbidden forest came to an end, and after a small expanse of clean white sand- turning a pale grey in the rain- the Black Lake started. Even in the roaring cascade of water, it was one of the most beautiful places she had seen in the Magical World. To her right was a banyan tree that she felt must have been at least a century old- there were so many daughter roots descending from its branches. Most of the trees around were covered in green moss. To the left, a fallen tree trunk had a curtain of moss draped over it, making the whole clearing unnaturally green. The forest was hauntingly quiet, apart from the sounds of the water falling on the canopy high above, and dripping down through the leaves. It felt like an alien planet, Hermione had rarely seen a place as natural and beautiful as this. And behind her stood the boy who had brought her here.

She stood for a few minutes taking everything in, shivering in the cold, feeling slightly miserable, before she felt a pair of hands rest gently on her shoulders. She turned around to face him. His emerald eyes were burning with something foreign; he was looking at her like he had never looked at her before. She realized what it was- her prayers had been heard.

She didn't know where she was, nor how she came to be there. She knew she was standing alone with him, in a rain that wouldn't seem to stop. She was standing at the back, or maybe it was the front, and she was tired of waiting- but she was standing alone with him. Time was neither here nor there, for she didn't bother herself with how long they stood like that- because it was just the two of them. She could almost hear the gentle music flowing through the air. _Can't you hear it too,_ she wondered.

She kept on looking into those eyes, that had haunted her dreams for so long, that had fuelled her insecurities and given her hope at the same time. The cold howling wind that blew through the clearing made her wish he would wrap her in his arms, and maybe fate would freeze them like that forever.

"You were saying something in the library?" It was posed like a question, and he had posed it very gently, his eyes never leaving hers.

The question confused and disappointed her. She realized he was nervous about this, that he was trying to buy time- to gather his courage. She could have scoffed at that. As if he should ever have to fear that she would say no to anything he asked of her. Hadn't she proved again and again that she was devoted to him? Hadn't she stuck by his side _always?_

She decided to let him play his game a little. "I wanted to know why you were acting like a Neanderthal. All that was left for you to do was to hit me over the head with a club and drag me to your cave. ' _She's mine!'_ Honestly! I'm not yours Harry Potter." She saw the disappointment in his eyes, and she couldn't bear it. So she added in a low tone- "At least, not yet."

She didn't stop the teasing smirk that lifted her lips slightly. His eyes lit up again as he realized she was messing with him. When did he grow taller than her? She shivered again, and his hands slipped from her shoulders down to her elbows, pulling her a bit closer to him. They were almost touching now- almost. She ached to cover the distance between them, to fill that divide between them with fervent, hot kisses- anything to be that intimately close to him.

He seemed slightly side-tracked by the revelation that she knew what he wanted with her. It was foolish of him, she thought. Like he could hide anything from her when his beautiful eyes were being so expressive! She could read him better than she could read any book when his eyes were so overwhelmingly full of emotions.

She noted idly that his glasses were dry; he was using the spell she had taught him months ago.

They stood in the rain for a few more silent moments, but none of them grew weary of it. She was being exceptionally patient, but she knew it was worth it. When it came to Harry, everything was worth it. She saw him open his mouth to speak, and thunder pealed in the dark skies above. His left hand left her elbow, and much to her delight, landed on her waistline. She saw the resolve form in his eyes, swirling like a whirlpool of emotions he had churned just for her.

* * *

Harry couldn't believe anyone could look as beautiful as she looked then. Her words rang in his head like a siren's call. _Not yet._

He burned from within to make her his, to press his lips against hers in a zealous kiss and sweep her off her feet to a temple of love and adoration he would build for her. He burned from within to make her say it- to hear from her own divine mouth that she was his.

"I've been wanting to say this to you for a long time now...and the only reason I haven't said this before is that I know I don't deserve any smile you send my way, or your hugs, or your constant presence by my side when things go wrong. I know that you can do much better than the boy in the old-hand-me-downs, who's always there to drag you into trouble. But I'm not going to let it stop me from trying to become someone who does- who deserves you."

He licked a drop of rain hanging off his lips, and Hermione stared- transfixed. And Harry congratulated himself mentally for not stuttering or stumbling with his words. He'd prepared them with great care, spending many a night awake, thinking of what to say to her.

"I've known for quite some time now that I'm hopelessly crazy for you, and maybe I've not made it fairly obvious. But I'm going to change that this very moment. I want you to know Hermione Granger- that I've never met a person more beautiful and more deserving of everything beautiful this world has to offer- than you. I had not known much of beauty and purity before I met you, but I want you to know that everything that I know of the two- I've learnt from you. I want you to know that you enrich every second of my life I spend with you, and nothing in this world shines brighter than the shine you hold for me.

"And even after all you've given me, I'm ready to shamelessly ask you for more. I'd like you to think of me as more than a good friend. I'd like to be your boyfriend Hermione- and I'm fully prepared to do all the homework and repetitive revisions of every essay I've written that come with that title."

She found she didn't have anything to say to that. How could she- when he had stunned her completely. How _does_ someone reply to something like that? As he pulled her close to him, finally responding to her silent request, and pressing her chilled body flush against his, she realized she was crying. Her silent tears were mingling with the rain falling down her cheeks, and she was slightly shaking- but it wasn't the cold. For the first time that day, she wasn't shaking from the cold.

"Let your hair loose, Hermione." His voice sounded raw to her ears, making her heart leap in her chest, and the rain kept pouring down. She was too stunned to do anything. She opened her mouth to ask _'What?'_ , but the word never realised. She couldn't believe that someone would say something so beautiful to her, especially someone as special as Harry. His words finally caught up to her brain, and she raised her left hand numbly to pull open her hastily tied bun. Her hair fell open in knots and tangles on her shoulders, and she shook her head slightly to let it fall to its full length.

Under his smouldering, heated gaze, she wondered if she looked like an ugly mess. But his eyes whispered to her that she was beautiful to him, and the rain kept pouring down.

Her eyes finally left his, coming to rest on his lips, and her tongue came out to lick her lips in anticipation. He lowered his head towards hers, and the rain kept pouring down.

She knew why he was hesitating, he was giving her time to step back- if she wanted to. Hermione felt it was blasphemy- she would never give up a chance to be able to do this- to be able to crush his lips to hers in every sinful way possible, to finally see her wishes fulfilled. Even in the cold, his warm breath fanned across her face. His right hand was cupping her cheek, holding it as if she was made of glass.

And then his lips were upon hers, pressing her against him so delightfully. They were soft, even though his philtrum was rough. His breath was warm, and reminded her of clover and mint. Her heart was beating like she'd just run a marathon, and the rain kept pouring down.

His lips felt incredible against hers, and with another pleasurable shiver she realized this was better than anything she had ever imagined. It was better than anything she _could_ ever imagine. It felt too good to be true.

Her clothes were sticking to her body like second skin, and her school skirt felt a bit heavy. But the feel of his left arm wrapped around her drowned everything else out.

And the rain kept pouring down.

* * *

Harry couldn't believe he had done it, poured his heart out to her, nor could he believe that she was kissing him back. Her lips were moving in unsynchronised tandem with his, but Harry felt that could be solved with lots and lots of practice. The feel of her delicate waist under his left palm was heady, and the texture of her smooth lips was making him dizzy. Her cheek was ridiculously smooth, and he couldn't help caress it again and again. And her lips were so soft, Harry was afraid they'd chafe if he weren't extremely gentle with her. He was running out of breath, but he couldn't bring himself to care about it.

Initially, her elbows had been pressed against his chest, but then she had wrapped her arms around his neck, removing any space that might have dared to exist between them. And Harry lost any control of his lips he might have had previously. Her chest was pressed _flush_ against his, and it was a very distracting sensation. She was so...soft, and delicate, and everything good.

They broke apart once, each drawing a deep breath, before their lips met again- in small touches of baby kisses. Once, twice, again and again. When his lungs began screaming in protest, he withdrew a little more, letting his forehead rest against hers, right hand slipping down to her waist to join his other hand. They stood panting in the rain, as lightning cackled again. Harry felt happiness swell up within him- the likes of which he had only felt when he'd realized he was a wizard. Acting on a sudden impulse, he pulled her tighter to him, squeezing any air the poor witch had managed to breathe in back out of her. Strangely, she didn't complain.

He finally spoke after a few moments. "I think I'd like to do that again."

"Definitely," she replied, "again and again. We're going to be doing that all the time Harry."

"All the time? Promise?" It took her a moment to recognize the teasing note in his voice.

She didn't care. She was too happy to care. Her brain had settled on one word _\- finally._ Harry had finally seen her as something more than a good friend.

"When the bloody hell did you become so poetic?" she asked him, finally opening her eyes to look into his.

He took a few moments to answer. "When you started swearing."

She blushed a bit, before pulling him into a tight embrace, one, she noted happily, he was too glad to return. When they pulled away, he took a step back from her, his hands not leaving her waist completely, and took a good look at her drenched form. He _was_ a male after all, and Hermione looked very enticing in her wet Hogwarts uniform-white blouse and black skirt, which was sticking to her like second skin. She blushed red when she realized what she he was doing.

"Are you done ogling?" There wasn't any anger in her voice- after all she did want him to look at her. He nodded, and then pulled his tongue out at her.

"Come on then," he said after a moment, "I think you've been drenched in this cold weather long enough. I don't want you to catch a cold. Oh! I almost forgot to ask!" She looked at him with interest as his face turned completely serious. He took her hand and started leading her away, back towards the way they had come.

Hermione cast one long look at the clearing- it had become her new favourite place in the castle- after the library, of course. As they began walking back, she wrapped an arm around Harry's waist. "What did you forget to ask me?"

"Would you like to accompany me to the ball? As my date?" He asked, wrapping his arm around her shoulders.

* * *

It had bothered her in the back of her mind all along the way. She wanted to ask him, but didn't want to come across as either stupid or insecure. Then she remembered this was Harry. He wasn't just her boyfriend now, he was also her best friend. And he would forever and always be her best friend first. She walked around a particularly gnarled root, and Harry jumped over it.

"Harry, can I ask you something?" She began softly. In reality, she still felt like squealing and giggling like a five year old who'd found their Christmas presents early. The way Harry had asked her to be his girlfriend had been nothing short of spectacular, and it made her wonder where the timid shy boy who'd jumped on a troll's back to save her had gone.

"Anything."

She took a few steps in silence before asking. "Why me? Not that I'm complaining...but I just...I'm not-"

Harry didn't let her finish. "Because you're my Holy Water."

She stopped dead in her tracks. "I'm your what?"

Harry stopped right beside her. There was a panicked look on his face. "Um, you know how sometimes there's a thought inside your head that sounds pretty nice but when you say it- ...it's not so nice..."

At the uncertain look on her face, he took a step ahead of her, and then turned around to face her. He took a deep breath, letting it out in a slow sigh, before explaining. "Ever since...ever since this craziness with Riddle's memories inside my head...I-I...I've been feeling contaminated, like something venomous has been released inside me. I feel like there is a blackness- a darkness lurking in my veins now- I'm changing Hermione- you've said so yourself- and I- just..." The words were coming slowly to him now. "I was afraid that I was turning into _him._ I know I have been tainted by the monster, and a few moments ago, when we were..." his face took on a goofy smile, "when we were kissing, I realized another thing I like about you- you make me feel clean- because I know that someone as pure as you will never let me become like him. Whenever I'm with you, I feel clean- like I can be pure again, I see a chance at chastity- that's how you make me feel. Like I have a chance at this- at getting out of the coming storm with my sanity intact. You make me feel like I might have a chance at heaven, when this is all over, of course. So, not only are you the person I trust and care for the most in this world, you're also my holy water. You purify me with every second you spend with me, and that's why it's you.

"Well, not entirely- there are honestly a hundred different reasons I can think of right now for why I am crazy about you, and each of them are viable. But that was the one I was currently thinking of..."

He trailed off when he saw the look on Hermione's face. She looked like something had melted within her. He hoped he hadn't upset her with his words. He didn't think she looked upset, but he didn't really understand girls. But when she pulled him into the tightest of hugs, he realized he had done something right. When she pulled back, Harry thought he might have seen tears in her eyes, but that could have been the rain.

She took his hand, entwining their fingers, and let him lead her out of the forest. Along the way, she couldn't resist the urge to jump into puddles of muddy water again, and splash him with the same. He laughed with her, letting her have her fun, and caught her whenever she slipped. They reached the castle gate laughing and giggling, still holding hands, unable to keep their eyes off each other, and dripping with water.

Just inside the gate, Harry pulled her to a stop, before pulling out his wand and casting cleaning and drying charms on both of them. She shivered again when the blast of warm air hit her. Stowing his wand inside his robes, he pulled her close again, one hand at her waist, the other taking hold of her hand, before pulling her into a soft kiss, as their fingers tangled again.


	8. I hate Surprises

Chapter Notes:- This chapter starts right from where the last one left off.

It contains some unusual developments. Sorry it took so long for me to post it.

Does someone have the recently deleted fanfics by Werewolf Warrior? If yes, kindly PM me.

People have raised concerns over Susan's apparent disappearance from the story. Rest assured, the fourway relationship is not going to begin any-time soon. I hope to make this a two part franchise, and the relationship will probably begin in the second part.

* * *

Behind them, someone cleared their throat rather pointedly, and Hermione jumped away from him, face burning crimson, while Harry turned around sedately, with just a light reddening of his cheeks. It was Professor McGonagall, and while her face was contorted in disapproval, Harry could tell by her eyes that they weren't in trouble.

"Miss Granger, I never expected such behavior from you, and in the Entrance Hall, of all places! I can see Mr Potter's influence on you." Her tone wasn't as strict as Harry knew it could have been. "And Mr Potter, I can't say I expected better of you in matters such as these, considering who your father was."

She glared at the two of them for a moment, and Harry saw Hermione's head hang, cheeks burning in embarrassment, but Harry couldn't wipe the damned smile off his face. He heard Hermione mutter an apology to the professor.

"I was just following your instructions Professor." Harry said in an innocent voice. Hermione stiffened.

McGonagall looked scandalized. "My instructions? Certainly Potter, if you think this is funny-"

"Why Professor! I distinctly remember you telling me to get a date for the Yule Ball."

The Professor glared at Harry, but after a few moments, Harry thought he saw a tiny smile. "That'll be five points from Gryffindor for the cheek, Potter. Nevertheless, the headmaster has asked you to meet him in his office- both of you."

Harry nodded at her, and took Hermione's hand again, who still refused to look Professor McGonagall in the eye, and started towards the Headmaster's office, wondering what this was about.

"And, Mr Potter." he turned when McGonagall called. She had been heading the other way, and had paused at the turn into the next corridor. "Like your father, you have excellent taste in women."

The resultant smile on Hermione's face refused to fade all the way to the Headmaster's office.

* * *

"Come in, Harry. Miss Granger."

Harry wondered how the headmaster knew it was them- they hadn't even knocked, but let the matter slide when he saw the look on the headmaster's face. As usual, the portraits in the headmaster's office were sleeping, or pretending to be, and Fawkes was preening his feathers. He gave a soft trill in greeting, and Harry smiled at the bird in return.

The Headmaster looked pale, as if he had been remembering something dreadful, and rose to his feet when Harry and Hermione entered. His spectacles hung by a thin golden chain against his chest, and his naked eyes looked troubled. The rays of the orange twilight fell from the window behind the headmaster's desk, giving him a slight halo of orange. He offered Harry and Hermione a seat, and after a long moment, in which he conjured a tall glass of water for himself, he retook his high backed chair.

Harry stared at him, watching him fidget about, wondering what was wrong with the headmaster. After a few seconds, Dumbledore pulled open a drawer in his desk, and picked out a long rectangular box from it. It was the same one Dumbledore had shown to him back then, when they had been making plans for Arrith Mallory's rescue. He'd called it a 'Potter Family Heirloom', something he'd won from a dark wizard before Voldemort's time.

Harry realized this was what the headmaster had called them for.

Dumbledore cleared his throat, and Harry finally understood why the headmaster had been fidgeting- he was nervous. Harry's curiosity spiked; he was eager to the point of agitation, to know what kind of family heirloom could make Dumbledore nervous.

"I think, Harry, that the time has come when you receive this. It has been in my possession for fifty years now, and the means by which I came across it are rather...close to my heart...in an unpleasant way. I hope you remember Harry, and Miss Granger of course, that I told you the other day that this artefact is mine by right of conquest." He waited for a second, and Harry and Hermione nodded. "Ah, well, I believe Miss Granger can tell us the name of the wizard I defeated fifty years ago- er, forty nine to be more precise."

Harry turned to Hermione in surprise. She looked pleasantly shocked, as if she had just remembered the answer to a rather complex Arthimancy problem. "It was Gellert Grindelwald, in ninety forty five, wasn't it Headmaster?"

Dumbledore gave her a sad smile, then nodded. "Five points to Gryffindor, Miss Granger, though I do believe, that the question wasn't particularly hard to answer, given that so much has been written and speculated about the duel that took place. But yes, I defeated Gellert, and took this...artefact from him. I think from the shape of the box, and the look on your faces, that you already know what this is."

"It's a wand, isn't it, Professor?" Harry asked. Dumbledore smiled at him in return.

"Yes Harry, it's a wand. But before we go into any of that, I'd like to tell you a story- er, well _another_ story. It's a children's tale, to be honest, but I think, and as will you within a few moments, that it is much more than that. There's a very common book, and you'll find it in almost every magical household, by the name of ' _The Tales of Beedle the Bard'_. In the book, is a very amusing tale, though I am sure when young children hear it, they do not find it that.

"I have a copy of the book somewhere here," the headmaster said, rummaging among the pile of books scattered on his desk. After a few moments, he pulled out a thin book, withered at the edges, its pages yellowed with age. On the front of the book was the picture of a wizard writing in a book with a quill, and in bold letters, the name of the book was declared. "Miss Granger, if you wouldn't mind?"

Hermione rose from her chair, and took the book from Dumbledore's outstretched hand. As she settled back in her seat, the headmaster told her the page number of the story he wanted her to read.

"There were once three brothers who were travelling along a lonely, winding road at twilight." She began. "In time, the brothers reached a river too deep to wade through and too dangerous to swim across... However, these brothers were learned in the magical arts, and so they simply waved their wands and made a bridge appear across the treacherous water. They were halfway across it when they found their path blocked by a hooded figure.

"And Death spoke to them. He was angry that he had been cheated out of three new victims, for travellers usually drowned in the river. But Death was cunning. He pretended to congratulate the three brothers upon their magic and said that each had earned a prize for having been clever enough to evade him.

"So the oldest brother, who was a combative man, asked for a wand more powerful than any in existence: a wand that must always win duels for its owner, a wand worthy of a wizard who had conquered Death! So Death crossed to an elder tree on the banks of the river, fashioned a wand from a branch that hung there, and gave it to the oldest brother.

"Then the second brother, who was an arrogant man, decided that he wanted to humiliate Death still further, and asked for the power to recall others from Death. So Death picked up a stone from the riverbank and gave it to the second brother, and told him that the stone would have the power to bring back the dead.

"And then Death asked the third and youngest brother what he would like. The youngest brother was the humblest and also the wisest of the brothers, and he did not trust Death. So he asked for something that would enable him to go forth from that place without being followed by Death. And death, most unwillingly, handed over his own Cloak of Invisibility.

"Then Death stood aside and allowed the three brothers to continue on their way, and they did so, talking with wonder of the adventure they had had, and admiring Death's gifts. In due course the brothers separated, each for his own destination.

"The first brother travelled on for a week or more, and reaching a distant village, sought out a fellow wizard with whom he had a quarrel. Naturally with the Elder Wand as his weapon, he could not fail to win the duel that followed. Leaving his enemy dead upon the floor, the oldest brother proceeded to an inn, where he boasted loudly of the powerful wand he had snatched from Death himself, and of how it made him invincible.

"That very night, another wizard crept upon the oldest brother as he lay, wine-sodden, upon his bed. The thief took the wand and, for good measure, slit the oldest brother's throat.

"And so Death took the first brother for his own.

"Meanwhile, the second brother journeyed to his own home, where he lived alone. Here he took out the stone that had the power to recall the dead, and turned it thrice in his hand. To his amazement and his delight, the figure of the girl he had once hoped to marry, before her untimely death, appeared at once before him.

"Yet she was sad and cold, separated from him as by a veil. Though she had returned to the mortal world, she did not truly belong there and suffered. Finally the second brother, driven mad with hopeless longing, killed himself so as truly to join her.

"And so Death took the second brother for his own.

"But though Death searched for the third brother for many years, he was never able to find him. It was only when he had attained a great age that the youngest brother finally took off the Cloak of Invisibility and gave it to his son. And then he greeted Death as an old friend, and went with him gladly, and, equals, they departed this life."

Hermione closed the book, and looked up at the headmaster, who was looking back at her, with a twinkle in his blue eyes. He knew that she knew. He had known she would be the first one to guess. But Harry surprised him.

"I may not be the smartest person in the room, and correct me if I am wrong- but why do I get the feeling, that you think of my cloak as _Death's Cloak of Invisibility,_ and..Er, that the wand you are about to give me, the one you won from Grindelwald, is the Elder Wand- made by Death himself."

Dumbledore gave Harry an impressed look. "I can see Miss Granger's influence on you, Harry. That was quite acute of you. Yes I do think, in fact, it is my belief- at my age you _know_ certain things. Before Miss Granger begins her well reasoned tirade of the impossibility of the Deathly Hallows," he gave Hermione a knowing smile, who blushed and looked away, "I'll have you know, that this is the Elder Wand, also known as the 'Wandstick of Destiny', or the 'Caduceo Mortem', and your cloak is the fabled Cloak of Invisibility. And yes, I've also seen the 'Resurrection Stone'."

Harry thought the headmaster had never looked so human ever, as when he said the next words. He almost looked as if he were ashamed. "I...I even used it once- it was my great moment of weakness. I was...well, I could take the easy path and say that the lure of my loved ones was too tempting. But ah, well, a story for another time, I'm sure."

But Harry wanted to know. He wanted to know the man behind the beard and the mighty titles. He wanted to know the _real_ Dumbledore. He opened his mouth to say something, but a look from Hermione quietened him. It appeared that she knew something about Dumbledore that he didn't. _Must be from all the books she has read._

"Did it bring back the de-...whoever it was you'd summoned?" Harry's voice was soft and timid, and he felt as if he was speaking out of turn.

The Headmaster looked at Harry, knowing what Harry really meant. "I shall trust your maturity Harry, and tell you that it allowed me to converse with my mother and sister, whom I lost to the consequences of the mistakes of my youth. But it did not bring them back Harry. They were a pale comparison of their reality- like shadows of the ghosts that walk the halls of Hogwarts. There is no magic that can bring back the dead, Harry. As much as you love them, and wish your parents alive and healthy, and as much as I wish mine the same, those who have moved on to the next great adventure, shall only remain in our hearts- they will always make our memories sad and happy at the same time. For that is the power of love, Harry, it is a great and a terrible thing, like fire and ice, it can soothe all the wounds you heart carries, and it can bring you warmth and comfort and joy like nothing else, but should the fates turn it perverse, love has often proved to be the most vicious motivator- for deeds of great agony and misery.

"I hope I managed to persuade you from looking for the stone, Harry."

Harry looked at his lap, head ducked in shame, playing with his fingers. For a moment, he had thought he could have his parents back, it had been like a bright flash light of hope, and Dumbledore's warning had taken away that hope, the flash leaving him momentarily blinded. "You did, Professor," Harry said as Hermione took his hand in support. He gave her a grateful smile. "Not a day goes by that I don't wish...that I could have known them, have been a part of their lives. People have told me often how amazing they were...but I wanted to find that out for myself. I wasn't really going to look for the stone Professor, I learnt my lesson in first year with the Mirror...it's just a wish that will never fade."

Dumbledore gave him an understanding smile. "Quite understandable, Harry. All of us have our own weaknesses, but your weakness will only make you strong Harry, and it is this very same maturity that you show me every time I expect you to, that tells me you are ready for the Elder Wand."

Harry listened intently. It was a bit difficult for him to believe that he was about to become the owner of the most powerful wand in the world. "Before you take possession of the wand, I'd like to impress upon you the importance of secrecy- in this case, know this, that the Elder wand has had a history of blood and murder. A lot of wizards truly believe it exists, and would do anything for its power. From time to time, the Elder Wand has been lost- probably hidden by a noble master, or by a greedy one, but it has always resurfaced. Power does that to people- I suppose. Every man craves power, Harry, but not every man deserves it. For power carries guilt- a lot of it- and Merlin help men who carry guilt within their hearts. One day, you will learn this lesson yourself Harry, that power is not meant to be tamed and wielded at the whim of the fickle- it is a shrew that only the rare few can wield, and not yield to its toxic corruption.

"Now, the three brothers of the story were actual brothers. Antioch, Cadmus, and Ignotus Peverell, I believe they were called. The Peverells are one of the oldest families of the Wizarding world. Antioch was the original owner of the Elder wand, and Cadmus possessed the resurrection stone. Ignotus, the wisest and youngest of the three was the owner of the Cloak you hold so dear Harry. Whether the three brothers were actually visited by death, or they were exceptionally bright wizards who made the Deathly Hallows themselves, and started the tale to spread their fame...it is all mere speculation.

"Your father, before his untimely death, revealed to me that the Potters were direct descendants of the Peverells- most probably the line of Ignotus. That is what makes you the rightful owner of the cloak, Harry. There is another man in this castle, who descends from the Peverells, from the line of Cadmus. But that is a different matter...

"The eldest brother however, was never able to have children of his own, and so upon his death, the right to own the wand passed to Cadmus, from where it passed from father to son and so forth, until the actual wand was obtained by a famous wand maker called Mykew Gregorovitch, who claimed to have been replicating the properties of the Elder Wand. Gellert Grindelwald stole the wand from Mykew, and upon his defeat, passed the wand to me. That was fifty years ago- and today, Harry, I am passing the wand to you, in hopes that you will use it for the purpose it was intended- to perform feats of unimaginable magic, to bring good in the world."

Silence reigned in the office. Harry was shocked beyond words. He descended from one of the most ancient lines of wizards. He wondered how big a fit Malfoy would throw if he heard this. "But Professor, you told me that there was another descendant of Cadmus in the castle...so why would you choose me?"

Dumbledore looked at Harry, and by the look on his face Harry knew that he was expecting the question. "Because he doesn't want the wand, Harry. For reasons I would rather you don't know, he does not want the wand. And please refrain yourselves form asking me his name- it is not my story to tell."

Harry found this rather strange, that a wizard would refuse the most powerful wand in the world. Then he remembered his own Holly and Phoenix wand, clutched in the safety of the pockets of his robes. He had always felt a special connection with his wand, like it was a part of him, like a limb he depended entirely on.

Beside him, Hermione looked lost in thought, her mind miles away. Harry himself needed time to digest the story. As far as he knew, Voldemort was unaware of the wand, or any of the other Hallows. If Dumbledore was telling the truth, and Harry had little reason to think otherwise, then he had just gained his second advantage over the Dark Lord. He eyed the dark wooden box speculatively, wondering if the wand would accept him as his master. From what little he knew about the art of Wand craft, it was the wand that chose the wizard. Tom's memories only reinforced the fact. Dumbledore however, seemed to sense his confusion.

He gave Harry a dry smile, "Do not worry, Harry. The Elder wand works in a slightly different manner than your average wand. Wand craft has always been more theory and less fact. But legend says that the Elder wand shall be slave to the wizard that defeats its current owner." He paused, pulling out a brown wand from the insides of his robes. "And since the wand serves me as of now, it shall be your test, Harry. Defeat me in a wizard's duel, and the Elder wand shall be yours."

If the office had been silent earlier, it certainly felt like a sealed grave now. Harry felt his stomach had dropped a few feet. Defeat Dumbledore? He felt he had more of a chance surviving against a hundred dragons. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. Not believing the words he had heard, he looked to Hermione. She was looking at Dumbledore with wide eyes full of disbelief. For a moment, her face stayed like that, then a look of understanding passed her face.

It only served to confuse Harry further. He looked back at Dumbledore. "I don't understand. Defeat you? Um...are you serious Professor?"

Dumbledore chuckled slightly. "I'm afraid Harry, I've rarely been more serious in my life."

The Headmaster conjured a glass of water for Hermione, who thanked him. "You need not worry Harry. The Tournament dictates that I cannot train you, for it might be interpreted as helping you. This way, all we shall be doing is fighting each other in mock duels. I'm afraid I shall not be giving you many pointers, but with Miss Granger watching, I doubt I shall need to. And, not to sound immodest, but I shall go easy on you."

Dumbledore's throaty chuckle, and twinkling eyes provided Harry with some measure of relief, but mainly he remained at ill ease.

"Don't look so troubled Harry; your recent prowess in magical skill is extraordinary. Correct me if I am wrong, but I believe you have a lot more spells up your sleeve than a few flashes and arcane music."

Harry kept quiet, but his grip on Hermione's hand tightened. "When do we begin Headmaster?"

Dumbledore gave him a broad smile. "We begin the coming Sunday, sharp noon. I shall be expecting both of you in Myrtle's bathroom."

Harry's eyes widened. "But Professor, does that mean we'll be going down to the chamber?"

Dumbledore nodded. "Indeed Harry. I think it is time I saw Slytherin's famous monster for myself. Besides, we do need somewhere spacious to practice. Now, I think you have a dinner to attend..."

Harry nodded, and stood up from his seat, Hermione rising beside him. "I'll see you on Sunday then, Professor." The headmaster nodded back, and Harry left the room with Hermione in tow.

* * *

Harry watched Susan sit across from him and Hermione at the Gryffindor table. It was a slightly bold move for the usually shy Hufflepuff, but she'd been having her dinner with them every other day of the week for quite some time now.

Hermione, Harry noted, was sitting slightly closer to him than usual. Not that they didn't sit together always, but every time Harry was moving his hand, it brushed against Hermione's. Harry wasn't complaining in the slightest. Every time their hands brushed, they'd smile at each other- a part of Harry thought it was pathetic, the way he was acting like a lovesick puppy around her, but a larger part of him found the whole act rather enjoyable. Besides, he didn't have it in him to not return her smiles.

"So Harry, I just heard another ridiculous rumor."

Harry already knew what Susan was about to say but he decided to let her run her course. "Well, let us have it then!"

"I just heard from Hannah that you and Hermione were caught kissing by the gates in the Entrance Hall by Professor McGonagall- and you have a detention with Hagrid in the forest tonight."

Harry chuckled lightly at that. Before Harry could say anything, Hermione spoke from beside him. "It's not a rumour Susan. Harry asked to the ball this afternoon." The smile on her face was infectious.

Susan looked from Harry to Hermione for a few seconds. "Um, wha-what did you say?"

Hermione gave Susan a look. "What do you think, Su? I said yes!"

Susan hesitated for just a moment before her face burst into a grin. "Congratulations! I can't say I'm surprised- with the Yule Ball looming in the distance, it was only a matter of days. Besides Harry has been giving you moon-eyes for most of last month-"

Harry, face warm and red, cut in hotly, "Hey! I have not!"

Susan pulled her tongue at him. "Have too!"

He chanced a glance at Hermione from the corner of his eyes. Her face was red, and she was looking down into an open book, but Harry could tell that she was smiling.

He turned back to look at Susan who had a strange look on her face, and was looking at Hermione almost wistfully, but when she saw Harry looking, she smiled at him. Harry found the incident strange, but decided to let it pass, owing mainly to his lack of social skills with women.

As dinner was drawing to a close, Susan spoke up again. "Harry, you go on to bed, Hermione and I am going to have a talk." There was a taunting note in her voice, and it made both Harry and Hermione slightly uncomfortable.

"We are?" Hermione asked timidly. Susan nodded in reply. Harry wasn't happy with the arrangement. He had been looking forward to spending the evening with Hermione by his side, but he let Susan have her way. He'd lately discovered Susan and Hermione were much alike in that way- you had to cede defeat and let them have their way. Harry didn't really mind. He liked Susan. She was fun to be around with, and most importantly- loyal to the bone. Harry had found that he didn't need to be careful about what he said in front of her.

Besides, Harry thought it was a good thing that Hermione had found a good female friend in Susan, seeing that she spent most of her time with boys. So he nodded at Susan, and turning around towards Hermione, gave her a soft peck on the cheek, enjoying the surprised look on her face as he pulled back. "I'll wait for you in the common room."

The trip back was rather lonesome, but Harry preferred it that way. Since the first task, people mostly left Harry to his own devices. Sometimes, Harry felt it was a lonely way to be, but then he remembered all the times people had turned their backs on him- especially Ron, whom Harry had begun to despise. The bitter memory was enough to make him feel content with his social circle.

* * *

Tumult was raging throughout the Great Hall. Almost all of the students were excited, but nervous fear ran rampant among the champions. The distinct buzz of chatter among the students was almost enough to drown out Dumbledore's voice. Almost.

The withered wizard put his wand to his throat, and the next instant, his voice echoed through the halls of Hogwarts.

"Silence!" The students quietened, and Harry looked to Hermione, looking for reassurance, for her to tell him that it was a joke, but it seemed she only had nervous fear for him, something he found he had a bit more than he wanted.

"Now, as I was saying before all of us became too excited to be considered polite," Dumbledore was saying, "it is the nature of the tournament to test the mettle of its contesting champions in every facet of their magical, physical and mental skills. It is, most probably with this aspect in mind that the Goblet of Fire has issued the order of a surprise task for our champions. This task, decided by the panel of judges will be held within half an hour. Like the first task, in which I am proud to say, all of our young champions performed admirably well, this task will test the contestant's ability to face the unknown, and is as complete a surprise to them, as the dragons were. I shall-"

"I really hope not!" Harry muttered darkly.

"-the champions to gather their well wishes from their supporters and head towards the arena of the first task, where this unexpected challenge awaits them."

 _Damn it all to hell!_ He had been having more nightmares recently, more bouts of Dementia, mainly during the night that left him with killer headaches. His plethora of exotic spells had been on the rise, but he had been unable to perform the more powerful spells. He had often wondered if he needed extraordinarily life-threatening circumstances to perform extraordinary magic. He only hoped his Dementia came to save his ass, or he wouldn't be left with one.

He felt Hermione grip his arm by the elbow, and turn him to face her. She looked troubled, and Harry put on his best brave face to put her at ease. He gave her a slow smile, but the worry wouldn't leave her face. She pulled him into a tight hug. Harry held her equally close, his hands toying with her curls. When she pulled back, her brow was furrowed.

"Will you be alright?" Harry asked her gently.

"You're asking me? I'm not the one about to face a stupid unknown task that may very well break a dozen of my bones!" Her tone was angry, though Harry could tell she wasn't angry at him.

He rubbed her arms in a reassuring manner. "Hey, don't worry. I doubt they've got anything worse than a dragon. How bad do you think it can be? Besides, if they throw something life-threatening at me...well, I've had it. I've been quiet for too long- I'm not a good boy any more. I'm not going to toe the line anymore. I'll burn the fuckers into the ground. I'll light a fire they'll never be able to put out."

Her only response was to smack him on the arm. "Mind your language in the presence of a lady, Mr Potter."

Harry smiled at her. "You certainly don't hit in a ladylike manner Miss Granger."

He pulled her to a bench, pushing her down gently so she would sit. He kneeled down in front of her. "Rest assured Hermione, at the end of the day, at the end of it all- I'm always going to come back to you. I've nowhere else in this wide world to go. There's nowhere else I _want_ to go."

She gave him a warm smile, and ducked her head as a soft blush infused her cheeks. "You've begun saying the sweetest of things lately." Her arms came up to encircle his neck, and she kissed him hard. Harry forgot that they were in the great hall, and that people were watching. He forgot he had an unknown task to face. He forgot that he was the least prepared champion in the tournament. He was only aware of Hermione's lips moving against his own.

He could still feel the tingling warmth after she had pulled back. "There's more where that came from Harry Potter," she spoke softly, "but you need to keep good on your promise- come back to me safe and sound."

Harry nodded at her, rising to leave. Two tables over, he could see Draco Malfoy giving him a disgusted look. He ignored the Slytherin blonde, instead focussing on the blonde head of Anaiah Malfoy, whom he was seeing for the first time since that fateful day, when Dumbledore had rescued Arrith Mallory. Feeling his gaze upon her, the blonde witch's eyes met his, and she passed him a discreet smile. Harry smiled back, before turning his attention back to his girlfriend.

Giving her one last smile, Harry turned to leave, but she started walking beside him. He didn't question.

They joined the rest of the champions in the corner, where Harry and Hermione received a hug from Fleur as congratulations, and a handshake from the men. Krum chose to glare silently at Harry, and kept on glancing at Hermione. Harry noticed Cho Chang standing beside Cedric, and returned her smile when she passed him one. The rather lukewarm greeting from Anaiah didn't surprise him- they'd decided to keep their friendship a secret. If Draco suspected Harry and Anaiah to be more than acquaintances, Lucius Malfoy would know where his captive had disappeared to. It wouldn't amount to much, but it might have put Anaiah in danger.

They filed into a line, and Harry let go of Hermione's hand then, walking away with slow sullen steps. It slightly felt like walking towards his execution. If Harry had to be honest with himself, he knew he wasn't really afraid of the coming task. There was something about successfully facing four fully grown dragons, or a blind basilisk, or a horde of dementors, or a horde of acromantulas- take your pick- that made the unknown surprise task less daunting. However, there was a nervous anticipation of what he was about to face. He could only hope and pray.

Besides, his chances were better now, than they had been during the first task. Back then, he was sort of alone, but now he had to make Hermione proud- a motivation, Harry found, that worked excellently.

They all made small talk along the way, with the exception of Krum, who chose to maintain his usual stony silence. Fleur congratulated him again and wished him a pleasant relationship with Hermione. The arena was devoid of the sheltered stands it had been graced with during the first task. Instead, hastily erected stands surrounded the central arena. Outside the stands, was a champions' tent, over which a grey flag bearing the crests of the three schools waved lazily.

Inside the tent, Harry found Dumbledore, Karkaroff, Crouch, Bagman, Madam Maxime, Professor McGonagall and Severus Snape. The Potions master's behaviour and attitude towards Harry, much to the latter's surprise, had changed slightly. While they weren't exactly friends, and while Professor Snape still deducted unfair points from his house, he didn't go out of his way to insult or hinder Harry. Harry thought he could work with that. Maybe it had something to do with the flawless essays he had been submitting.

Initially, Snape had been suspicious of Harry, and had accused him of copying off Hermione, but Harry had respectfully pointed out that his essays had several points that even Hermione's didn't. Infuriated, Snape had proceeded to ask Harry a rather complex and advanced set of nine questions, six of which Harry was able to answer satisfactorily. To Harry's relief, even Hermione knew the answers to only four of them, and claimed that the last two had nothing to do with potions, and were based on the applications of potions in runic arthimacy.

After that, they had come to a silent truce- Harry would ensure his work was flawless, and Snape would refrain from insulting him- much. Of course, every now and then, there was an offhand comment about how arrogant and egoistic Harry was, but Harry let it slide. Lord Voldemort's memories had taught him why Severus Snape hated James Potter so much, and why Harry was a reminder to the petty man of all that he had lost. Although Harry couldn't bring himself to pity the man, Harry decided he would take the higher road in the matter, and treat Severus Snape as something small and insignificant.

He still remembered Hermione's glowing smile when he had told her his thoughts on the matter. She thought it was one of his most mature moments.

Dumbledore's voice drew Harry from his thoughts.

"If I may have your attention...now, this surprise task is not as dangerous or tough as some of you may be thinking- it is only as tough as the strongest of you. In simple words, it is an all out duel. You will all be released into the arena at once. The entire arena is fair game. No dark spells are allowed, any border line spells shall be considered by the judges and if found unsuitable dealt with suitably. Keep in mind, the champion that severely hurts, maims or kills another champion can and will be tried for Azkaban, so stick to spells that incapacitate. The last person standing shall be declared winner, and awarded thirty points- the penultimate champion twenty points, and ten points shall go to the champion disabled third to last."

Harry wondered if Dumbledore was aware of how his little speeches were succeeded with silence. After a few moments, in which each champion speculatively eyed the others- assessing which champion they'd attack first, Crouch told them to head out into the arena. Harry felt apprehensive of the whole situation. He knew he would have to take out Krum and Cedric as soon as possible, for not only would the two male wizards attack him first, Harry had a feeling Krum would be looking for retaliation. Harry hoped he was wrong.

Harry's performance was coming to bite his rear with all the power of a charging dragon. Every champion knew Harry didn't _know of_ kid gloves. They would treat him like an explosive- bent on diffusing him every chance they got. There was an extremely good chance every champion would attack him first. For an uncertain moment Harry wondered what would happen if _that_ happened. Then he remembered the promise he had made to himself and more importantly- to Hermione.

He would burn the fuckers into the ground.

He would light a fire they would never be able to put out.

He was, Harry Potter- destined for great and terrible deeds. And his name was burning bright for the world to see.

He was a reckoning coming. And he was a fire burning.


	9. Click and Burn

They were all standing like isolated chess pieces – alone and in constant danger. Five different enemies against each of them, all six of them fighting for their own skin, a crowd roaring its pleasure at this basest form of entertainment- for every man enjoys pain wrought upon a hero, every man loves to see an angel fall, a host shouting their every move to the four winds, somewhere in the cheering crowd a person or two who cared, and a petty cup of steel and magic at the end of it- along with a sack of gold and insane glory- for wasn't glory why we lived? Wasn't glory why we tried? Wasn't glory the reason that made six people putting their lives at risk an act of sanity?

Harry swallowed nervously as he studied the other champions. Wurdy's eyes were glued on Fleur and Anaiah. Cedric's eyes were flitting between Harry, Krum and Wurdy, but Krum had dropped all pretence- his eyes were fixed on Harry in a glare that made Harry nervous. They were all standing on circular stone plinths, a feet high and surrounded by jagged rock that would serve as a cruel landing. The rocks were spread around the plinths in an uneven circle roughly a metre in radius. Beyond that, was a ten feet broad ring of barren ground, littered with huge boulders, encompassing all of them.

After barren ground came a ten feet broad ring of water. The water should have been still, but it looked like it was a pool caught in a storm. Waves raged through the pool like caged spirits of hell, yearning to burst free and lay waste to heaven and earth. The last and final ring was of dense vegetation. Twenty feet broad, and lying at the edge of the arena, it would serve as an effective cover, and Harry made a mental note of that. The arena ended at the forest's edge with fifty feet high walls. Over head the sun blazed yellow, and a few tufts of clouds were crawling in from the east. The air was chilly, but there was no breeze, the reign of doldrums brought to life.

Harry felt a bead of sweat crawl down his hair and into the special black and gold "Hogwart's Champion" t-shirt he had been given. His dementia was unusually calm, but Harry had a feeling it would answer when the time came. While the champions had been changing into their new clothes, the Durmstrang and the Beauxbatons champions had grouped up. Harry had thought they might have been teaming up, but he had to formulate a plan to win the duel, and let the matter go. Surviving the task wasn't going to cut it anymore, Harry wanted to win. He didn't want to appear as a child caught in a conspiracy. He was the _Dragon Slayer_ , and he was going to make the dragon that marked him proud.

"CHAMPIONS!" Ludo Bagman's voice flooded the stadium. From behind the judges' panel, something was released into the air. At first Harry thought it was a couple of snitches, then six screens rose from behind the stands, rising high into the air until they were visible to everyone. The white screens flickered for a moment, before colourful images ran across them. In growing wonder and amazement, Harry realized what the 'snitches' were. It was someone's stroke of genius- they were floating cameras! Each 'camera snitch' was focused on a particular champion, displaying their every move. Harry thought it was a brilliant idea, and somewhere in the crowd, he knew Hermione thought the same.

"DRAW YOUR WANDS!"

Ludo's loud voice magnified magically brought Harry's attention back into the peril he was facing. Drawing a shaky breath, Harry drew his wand from the wand holster he had been provided. There was a muscle twitching uncontrollably in his left leg, but it would have to be designated attention later.

"YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED TO WRECK FATAL INJURIES UPON YOUR FELLOW CHAMPIONS. ANY AND ALL DANGEROUS SPELLS WILL RESULT IN A WARNING. AFTER THREE WARNINGS, THE OFFENDER WILL BE DISQUALIFIED. ON THE COUNT OF THREE, THE MAGICAL BARRIERS SURROUNDING YOU WILL BE DROPPED! PREPARE YOURSELVES! PEOPLE OF MAGICAL BRITAIN!" The crowd roared in response. "ARE YOU READY FOR A DUEL THE LIKES OF WHICH YOU HAVE NEVER SEEN BEFORE?" The crowd roared again, and Harry noticed the crowd was full of wizards and witches from every station of life. In a special stand raised slightly above all others, Harry saw Cornelius Fudge sitting, beside him sat Lucius Malfoy along with Draco and a woman of striking beauty, though it was difficult to describe her features from the distance.

"THEN COUNT WITH ME! THREE!" The number was echoed by the crowd- almost as loud as Ludo Bagman, and Harry felt nervousness pouring in from all sides. He _really_ didn't want to be beaten in front of what felt like half the Wizarding world. "TWO!" Harry's eyes turned towards the screen displaying his face. 'Screen-Harry' looked exactly how real-Harry felt- troubled, afraid and scared witless.

He saw his likeliness gulp as the roar of Ludo's final count began, and his sight finally dropped to in front of him.

"ONE!"

"BEGIN!"

* * *

"TUERI CRASSUS!" Harry yelled at the top of his voice, but even as his wand waved, and the sound of yelled and screamed banishing charms and multifarious spells hit his ears, he knew he was in trouble. His wand movement had been sloppy. His shield took the brunt of a stunning spell, a greenish purple spell Harry was too busy to recognise and a freezing spell, before he heard the crack. His shield shattered, and his feet left the ground as two banishing charms found his torso. His only reprieve was that the charms had managed to banish him out of the final stunner's way.

He span head over heels, twelve feet up in the air, like a helicopter spinning out of control. As his descent began, he gripped his wits by their necks, casting a hurried cushioning charm on the ground beneath. Falling through the air, he landed roughly on the ring of barren ground, his breath knocked out of him, spells rushing past his face. He knew he had no time to waste, and even as he rolled to his left, another stunner hit the ground he had been on moments ago, kicking up dirt.

Dazed as he was, he kept momentum, turning one roll into another, and managed to cast another advanced shield. He took a moment to assess himself as spells collided with the invisible barrier, leaving faint coloured marks in the air. A few feet away, Cedric had begun his attack on Fleur, who turned around in a flash to defend. Finnick Wurdy, it seemed, had never attacked Harry. His first spell had been towards Anaiah, who had not only managed to defend against the Bulgarian, but also cast a stunner at Harry.

Harry himself was in no shape to win the duel. A twelve inch long cut ran along his left arm, from the end of his wrist to above the elbow. It was bleeding profusely. There was a throbbing ache in his ribs, where the banishers had hit, and his right hip, on which he had landed. _Great! Five seconds into the duel, and I'm already bleeding. Hermione's going to kill me._ Harry cursed as he cast another shield to reinforce his protection. He wasn't the only champion to have left their plinth. Cedric had started backing off towards the ring of water, locked in furious battle with Fleur, and as the thought to follow suit crossed Harry's mind, he knew what he was going to do.

The idea clicked in his mind in a flash. It wasn't probably the darkest idea Harry had had in a while- but he knew, even if he lost, his plan would leave a mark on every opposing champion.

Something was about to burn.

The ring was symbolic of all the elements of nature - except one. Fire. Harry decided it was time to complete some fool's unfinished rendition of the five elements, and add his favourite element to the mix.

He dodged a black coloured spell from Krum, who followed up with a yellow spell that would have shattered Harry's shields, and conjuring a pair of magical shackles, banished them in Harry's direction. Harry flicked the yellow spell away in Wurdy's direction, watching as Krum's eyes widened slightly. 'Flicking' spells was a NEWT level practice, taught in the middle of seventh year. It required great precision and a calmness of mind that not every wizard had.

Hitting the shackles with a pair of low powered blasting hexes, Harry cast a ' _Protego'_ to defend against Wurdy's stunner. It turned out that the Bulgarians had paired up amongst themselves, deciding to take Harry out first. The French had done the same, but against Cedric. Harry cast shield after shield, but the ferocity of Krum's spells broke every shield within moments. Harry swore as a cutting curse slipped through his shields and opened a gash in his right thigh. Adrenaline and blood pumping in his veins like a heady concoction keeping him alive, Harry swore like a sailor, clamping a hand over the cut. Despite having never cast so fast before, he had not time to sew up the wound with a simple household healing charm.

He knew he needed to move, to take cover. Defending against two sides, and keeping a careful eye on the rest, Harry took careful steps away from the ring of water.

"HARRY POTTER SEEMS TO BE IN TROUBLE. AND VIKTOR KRUM LOOKS BENT ON DEMOLISHING THE YOUNGER HOGWARTS' CHAMPION. FROM THE CHOICE OF HIS SPELLS-..." Somewhere high above, Bagman was shouting at the top of his voice. "AND LO! CEDRIC DIGGORY HAS JUST JUMPED INTO THE WATER! THE FRENCH WITCHES DON'T LOOK TOO HAPPY ABOUT IT- AND THERE- OH! THIS JUST KEEPS ON GETTING BETTER AND BETTER. FLEUR DELACOUR HAS CHOSEN TO ATTACK POTTER-"

And Harry knew his game was over. He might have stood a chance against Wurdy and Krum, but with Fleur in the mix, it was a matter of seconds. He knew Krum knew this- the smug smile on his face was evidence enough. It irritated Harry to no end that Krum thought he was a better duellist than Harry, when it was Harry who was fighting against three opponents simultaneously. That irritation turned to anger when Anaiah joined the fight.

His wand flashed left and right, weaving shields from the thin air, but it just wasn't working. His arms were tiring; he had yet to land a spell on any of the champions.

Unable to find Cedric Diggory from her place over the plinth, Anaiah had taken cover behind the same stone, and turned her wand on the others. And fate had presented her with a golden opportunity. She noticed how Krum and Fleur were busy attacking Harry, but were still aware of every other champion's presence. Much to his coming discomfort, Finnick Wurdy wasn't.

He sensed her stunner, and leapt to his left to dodge it. Anaiah gave him no further chance. She attacked him like a possessed witch. A flurry of red and pink and white streaks left her wand as the wooden stick tore through the air. Finnick turned his complete attention on Anaiah, casting shields and shouting hexes against the Beauxbatons champion. Krum chose that moment to strike.

He turned on the heel of his foot, and cast an ' _Incarcerous'_ in Wurdy's direction. The Bulgarian never saw it coming. As soon as he fell, Krum resumed his onslaught against Harry, and much to Harry's dismay, Anaiah joined.

Somewhere in the stands a gong sounded, and Finnick Wurdy disappeared from the arena.

Harry realized what had happened. Finnick had lost. And if things went the way they were going, Harry was next. Though Harry mentally congratulated himself for lasting so long against multiple opponents, he knew if he didn't act soon, his foray into the second task was going to be over soon.

* * *

The spells were coming so fast, Harry couldn't name half of them. And it was humiliating. Voldemort could fight again at least nine wizards while taunting three others. And here he was, Harry Potter, chosen one, born to end the Dark Lord's reign, unable to defend again three seventh years, despite having knowledge they couldn't fathom, let alone possess.

It was a hopeless moment. It was an infuriating moment. It was the _changing_ moment.

He had managed to reach a tall boulder that shielded him momentarily from Krum. Harry took a deep breath. He knew he had only one shot at this- one shot to turn the tide, to splinter the tables. And one shot to prove.

And he raised his hand up to the skies, wand still locked in furious duel- spitting forth shields faster than thought, magic crackling at his fingertips. He didn't know what he was about to do. His mind was a blank, the hand rising up on its own accord.

The sound was probably what first told Krum trouble was brewing. And then it must have been the flash of light that confirmed his suspicions. He looked up just in time to see the bolt of lightning descend. Even though the strike was carefully aimed three metres to his left, it threw Krum off his feet, and onto a tall boulder. There was dull thud as flesh met bone, and Victor Krum bounced off the boulder onto the harsh unforgiving ground. His plinth had been shredded to bits and rubble.

Harry _liked_ it. The wild crowd agreed. The judges didn't.

A magical voice echoed through the arena. "HARRY POTTER- WARNING!"

Turning in time to intercept a well aimed curse from Anaiah, Harry shouted back at the judges, "Fuck you!" He was beyond angry now. His first _real_ move had been deemed borderline dangerous- where was a dragon when he needed one?

And then Cedric Diggory entered the match- rising from the turbulent waters struggling to pull him back in, he called to Harry "Ready Harry?"

Harry jumped slightly, concentration broken, missing a wand movement, and earning a skin boiling hex on his left shin. He let loose a 'hiss' in response, sending a glare in Cedric's direction. The older boy was dripping wet from his foray in the water, and grinned at Harry in return. Their eyes locked for a moment- Harry expected Cedric to attack, and was pleasantly surprised when he didn't. Cedric shook his head to allay Harry's fears. "What's the matter Harry? The girls proving too tough for you? Maybe you should let me help you."

Ducking and dodging curses, Harry turned his back on Cedric, trusting the Hufflepuff to watch his back for the moment, and hoping for him to be taken out by someone else. That trust broke when he felt ropes begin to bind him. His legs snapped together as thick brown ropes began wrapping around them. Panic bubbled like boiling water, as anger coursed through his veins. Betrayal.

Another Ronald Weasley. Another damned liar.

Another fucker to burn _right_ into the ground.

The rational part of him knew he had no right to be angry- this was a competition- everyone was here to win, every man for himself, and for someone to win, everyone else had to lose. But the irrational part of him was roaring outrageously. He wanted redemption.

There was none to be had. He was wrapped up to his waist in constricting ropes. He was losing. He _had_ lost. But something in him didn't want to give up just yet. He was Dragon-Slayer. He was the Boy-Who-Lived. There was no way he was going to lose.

His hand snapped up, muttering ' _Finite'_ just as the ropes enclosed his chest in their suffocating tightness. He heard loud booing from the crowd. He didn't care who they were booing- it only sever to fester the wound Cedric had left on him. Blood roared in his ears like percussion. Slashing the ropes with a wandless ' _Diffindo',_ Harry jumped to his feet roaring like a beast untamed.

Cedric, surprised and shocked, jumped right back into the water he had emerged from. It did little to deter Harry. He was there to heat things up- he was born for that purpose. His entire demeanour changed as his magic rushed to every pore in his body- slave to his anger. The air around him flickered and cackled as energy gathered around him. Stepping away from the boulder, Harry turned to look at the other three opponents. Anaiah and Fleur were busy fighting amongst themselves, having seen Harry go down with Cedric's ' _Incarcerous'_. It was a dance of profound grace and beauty. Fleur and Anaiah looked like deadly angels locked in a vicious battle, spells burst forth from their wands, colliding in midair in showers of sparks, or flying past their shoulders.

A few feet away, Victor Krum was getting back on his feet. He sported a wicked nosebleed and was favouring his left shoulder. The Bulgarian champion looked up at the same moment Harry took his first step in Anaiah's direction. Snarling like a cornered wolf, he whipped his wand in Harry's direction, and barbed wire shot forth.

Harry's wand flashed as he roared out his most powerful shield. " _TUERI PROTEGO MAXIMUS!_ " A blue dome flickered to life around him, encasing him in its protective embrace. The only downplay was the slightly muted hearing Harry now faced, but Harry decided he could live with it.

The wires crashed against the shield as Harry heard a damped warning for Krum. From the look on Krum's face, Harry knew the Durmstrang champion didn't care. He was not fighting in the task anymore. He was fighting Harry. Spells churning in his mind, Harry watched Krum raise his wand towards the skies. Dread filled Harry as he realized what was happening. He dived to his left just as the lightning struck a foot away. The explosion hit him like it had hit Krum, but his shield protected him from any damage. Another warning was issued for Krum, and it had as much effect on him as the first one had.

Growling in frustration, and flinging a water-boiling charm into the ring of water for Cedric's pleasure, Harry decided the time for desperate measures had come. Taking careful aim, he threw another NEWT level spell. " _Vegrandis Butio!_ "

Krum hastily cast a shield, but Harry had put too much power into the spell for it to be completely absorbed. Instead, the pink spell was deflected into the ground at his feet. Krum's smug smile vanished behind a small, but bright explosion of dirt and earth as the ground at his feet burst. The spectators went berserk. The Bulgarian staggered backwards, blinking his eyes rapidly. Ears ringing, he took Harry's banishing hex straight to the chest and went flying into the turbulent waters.

"HARRY POTTER- SECOND WARNING! USE NON-LETHAL SPELLS!" Harry ignored the warning, he was just getting started.

Smiling in satisfaction, Harry turned to check on Fleur and Anaiah. They were still locked in their waltz. Harry saw Anaiah shout something out to Fleur in French, and Fleur reply with equal intensity. The two witches _laughed_ with each other, and Harry realized they were _playing_. Their cries and ejaculations filled the air, and somewhere above, thousands roared their approval. He thought of interfering, then decided against it. He had a score to settle with Cedric first. Emerald eyes scanned the arena, flitting to boulders and shadows. For a few moments, Harry stupidly thought Cedric was still in the water, then a small movement in the trees caught his eyes. Cedric had fled to the trees, apparently having decided to let the other champions tire each other out. _To pursue or not to?_

He looked over his shoulder. Krum was climbing out of the water, glaring daggers at Harry, and rubbing his chest. Looking above, his eyes met the screen- Harry caught himself staring back. His eyes looked wild, magic crackling in them, his hair was damp with his sweat, and his t-shirt was glued to his chest with the same. He gave a crooked smile. Screen-Harry smiled back just as crookedly.

His mind was made- he didn't have the time to pursue Cedric, instead he would make the Hufflepuff come out to him. Hoping to the heavens that his spell would work, Harry raised his wand in a spiral motion, before whipping it further upwards in a crescent-slash. " _GELATA INFERNUM ROGUS!"_ Thick sticky liquid shot out from his wand-tip in a broad arc, sailing high, through the air and towards the tree tops. Halfway through, the liquid shimmered before catching fire.

Burning at a temperature of more than two thousand degrees, the magical _napalm_ descended like the wrath of heavens upon the dense vegetation. The trees stood no chance. They fell away like a castle of sand in high tide. The arena was flooded with Harry's final warning. "HARRY POTTER- FINAL WARNING! YOU WILL BE DISQUALIFIED!"

 _Go fuck yourself!_ Harry thought, turning around to face Krum. The Durmstrang champion looked pretty beat up. His nose bleed hadn't stopped, and wet to the skin, sputtering like a fish, he didn't look very frightening to Harry.

Harry muttered soft curses as Victor raised his wand again. Harry recognized the wand movements- _Bombarda._ "Just give up already." Harry muttered to himself as he pondered on his next move. The blasting hex slammed harmlessly against Harry's shield, managing to push Harry a few steps backwards. The blue dome flickered slightly, but held.

Another couple of spells from Anaiah and Fleur stuck against his weakening shield, but the two witches kept mostly to themselves. Still, Harry felt his time running out. He doubted he could cast another mage shield, tired as he was. He needed to act fast. Behind him, Cedric Diggory emerged from between the burning trees, blackened and coughing. Streaks of tears marked his soot covered face. His t-shirt had burnt away, leaving him in tatters, and his tournament shorts were hanging in place with sticking charms. For a moment, he stood at the edge of the land, leaning on his knees. Then he was spotted by Harry.

His eyes widened to saucers as he saw the stunner coming. His mouth opened in a weak protest before the red light knocked him out. His body disappeared as soon as the gong sounded, just as a burning tree crashed where he had been standing seconds ago.

* * *

Setting his sight on Krum, Harry broke into a run. The Beauxbatons witches were too busy duelling amongst themselves to do much- other than a few vain stunners. Krum's eyes widened as he saw a charging Harry Potter, encased in a blue dome, coming _right_ at him. The Bulgarian seeker cast stunner after stunner, and when nothing seemed to work, a blasting hex, which promptly earned him his final warning.

Harry leapt atop a low boulder, never stopping for a moment in his run- he knew stopping meant giving Krum time to think, and he didn't want that. His wand spun in an imaginary helix, before pirouetting in a series of curved zigzags. " _Eicio!"_ he screamed, pointing the holly wand at the boulder.

The brown streak of light that raced from his wand _slammed_ into the boulder, and Harry felt his feet leave the ground. The repelling charm, unable to properly repel the boulder away from its caster into the ground, had followed the laws of simple magical physics, and pushed Harry in the opposite direction- _up._

He sailed gracelessly through the air, left arm flailing lamely, both legs bleeding, but his right arm stayed focused, aim carefully set on Krum. Blue shield forgotten and discarded, he flicked away Krum's cutting curses right _back_ at him.

And then, three feet in the air from Krum, wand ready with a stunner, Harry felt a disarming charm rob him of his most powerful ally. Seconds seemed to freeze as the holly stick was ripped out of his fingers. His mind went silent, no dementia, no witty comebacks, and no arrogant monologues to help him. He watched the sadistic grin on Krum's face blast itself into a full blown smile.

It clicked in his mind with the force of a tornado- so convincing that it drove away all any and all other thoughts. He knew what he was going to do. He knew how he was going to burn Victor Krum. And so as the distance between Krum and him drew to null, his magic rushed in again, a slave to its master, collecting behind his right elbow as he reared his arm back in the makings of a legendary punch.

And then with a cackling sound, it burst. His hand shot forward, at an unbelievable speed- his timing was no bitch. Like a perfectly synchronised move, his fist connected with Krum's face, and Harry watched in morbid fascination as Krum's eyes widened in the realisation of what Harry had done. The Bulgarian's face turned around in seeming slow motion to compensate for the punch. Water droplets flew off in spiral directions as the impact registered to every facet of Krum's skull.

There was a meaty _thud,_ and a crack, as teeth broke loose, and the Bulgarian, unconscious, dropped like a sack of potatoes, Harry tumbling right on top of him. There was a deafening gong, its loudness probably owing to Harry's closeness to Krum, as the second Durmstrang champion vanished from the arena. To Harry's surprise, another echoing gong followed Krum's. For a confusing moment, Harry thought he had damaged his hearing, and then logic kicked in, and horror bloomed in his heart again. He realized what had happened. One of the Beauxbatons' champions had won- meaning that they were free to deal with the final contender- none other than a wandless Boy-Who-Lived.

He lay motionless for a moment, before taking the quickest and deepest of breaths, and jumping to his knees, eyes wandering wildly in search of his precious wand. He cursed whoever it was that had cast the disarming charm on him. And that was as far as his thoughts went; a brilliantly glowing red stunner struck his side, and he fell exactly here he had dropped Krum.

* * *

His eyes, much to his relief, didn't open in darkness, unlike the previous times. His mind was much clearer too; he instantly recognized the tent's grey canopy, and his eyes had barely opened, when Hermione's worried face came into his view. Harry started hating this pattern- him falling into trouble, and Hermione worrying herself sick over him. The frown on her face bore testament to the depth of her emotions, and it saddened Harry immensely, and he sighed out loud. For a moment, she looked like she might say something, then she closed her mouth, and shut her eyes. She stayed like that for a few moments, before sighing in response.

Harry realized she was holding his left hand in her own, and he gave her a sad smile. She returned his smile with the same emotion, "Here we are again…"

Her smile faded and she covered her face with her hands. "How are you, Harry?" she mumbled from behind her hands. He shrugged in response, and she frowned. Something spoke within him. "Promise me," he said.

Her sad smile broke off into another small frown, "Go on. Whatever it is… and I hope it's not something silly…." She smiled at him in the end- just a tiny curve of her lips.

He tugged at her hand until she was leaning against his bedside properly. She complied. _Stay with me._ Harry opened his mouth, but the words didn't come out. There was a… _something_ …stuck in his throat, an acidic ball of emotions that made him want to cry. He didn't know where they had come from. He tried again, but instead, and in frustration, tears sprang forth, and he closed his eyes before they could spill out. In that moment, he knew. He knew in that moment that he had no right to ask of Hermione what he so desperately wanted right then. It was a burning affliction in his head, _divine affliction_. In that one moment, consisting of a thousand eternities, the emotion drove him mad. It drove him all sorts of insane. And as the moment receded, ending with it the thousand eternities it was comprised of, it left behind nostalgia for something he daren't put into words. He _daren't._

So he turned his face away, and _forced_ the tears to recede, like tide ebbing away. He dried them up within his eyes. He wouldn't let her see him cry over her. Not when the sky wasn't falling.

He felt her soft hands caress his face, and he felt something within him start to heal. Her fingers tucked themselves gently underneath his chin, and his _soul smiled_ at her gentle touch. His heart _sang_ , its beats flowing in notes and silences that tried their best to overcome the self-abhorrence he felt. He craved to ask _that_ of her which he so desperately wanted to return to her. He was surprised by everything that was running in his mind right then. He hadn't needed this before, he hadn't known of this before, hadn't felt this absence in his heart. He didn't know where this sudden need was coming from, this sudden hunger for her, in no way carnal, this desire to ask that of her, that- that….

She made him face her, and when he wouldn't open his eyes her fingertips traced patterns over his eyelids. "What's wrong?" She spoke in a whisper. How well she knew him.

He opened his eyes after a moment, meeting her brown eyes. They were full of worry. "What's wrong?"

He shook his head, giving her a smile. "Tell me. You were saying something."

He smiled at her persistence, "It was nothing…was rambling. You worry for me too much- you shouldn't."

He made to get up, and she looked away, speaking in a heated tone. "How can't I? How can you ask me not to worry? I can't _not_ worry for you. It's become an integral part of my life."

Her words stung him a little, and he realized she was frustrated with the constant danger his life was in. When she spoke next, her tone was much softer, and Harry thought she was about to cry, "I care for you, how can I not worry for you? I care for you so much…don't tell me not to." She let him rise on the bed, and engulfed him in a gentle hug. He rested his head on her shoulder, nuzzling her brown curls.

"I'm sorry. I just don't like troubling you." Harry spoke in her ear softy.

She pulled back and looked at him for a few moments, "How are you feeling? Does it hurt somewhere?"

He gave her a look, before resigning and examining his body for a moment, and in the silence that issued amongst the two of them, he realized they were alone in the tent. "My right palm itches something fierce. There are a few rashes and aches in various parts of my body, but it's nothing I can't deal with."

She pressed her palm against his cheek for another short moment, before Harry asked again. "What happened in the duel?"

"You were brilliant, as usual. I was standing right beside Professor Filtwick, and he had nothing but high praise for you. He says you are an exceptionally talented duelist for someone your age. And your little incidents with Krum and Cedric garnered more attention than necessary."

"What did _you_ think of my performance?" He asked her with a smirk.

"Well," she began with a haughty smirk, "I found the whole task quite barbaric." She paused for a moment, laughing at Harry's diappointed face. Then a sly smile came over her lips, "I think Filtwick was underestimating your performance."

The haughty expression returned, "Oh, and do tell Mr. Potter, was there another motive behind your aggression towards Krum, or was it all Professional duelling?"

"I assure you Miss Granger, it was all professionalism. Right from the moment it began, to the moment I broke his teeth and punched his lights out, it was all pure professionalism." He returned her sly smile.

"Well, so your professionalism apart, you were knocked out by Anaiah's stunner. You impressed almost everyone with that magically enforced punch."

"Almost?" Harry asked.

"Well, you can't break half a dozen of Krum's teeth and expect Karkaroff to be happy about it." Her tone was lifting into merrier spirits, and Harry decided to bury his own melancholy. "Where's everyone else?"

She jerked her head in the direction of the arena. "The participants were given half an hour to recover. Your time's almost up…come on." She hopped back from the bed in one graceful movement, and tugged at his hand. He groaned, bone tired. "Can't it wait? I'm tired to the bone!"

She gave him a mock stern look. "You better not whine Harry, the Yule Ball is in two days, and I expect you to be on your best behaviour."

He gave her a mock military salute, "Yes Ma'am!"


	10. Magic

Hello people. Put the torches and forks away. I'm back. I'm late but back.

Needed to sort a few things...but yeah.

I promised I wouldn't abandon this story, didn't I?

This is a rather short chapter, but I needed to put something out here to get myself moving. But anyways, do leave a lovely review.

On another note, does anyone know why the hell Harry Potter Fanfic Archive isn't working?

* * *

Harry thought the arena was more crowded than before. The stands were filled to bursting capacity- students, civilians, important ministry officials- Harry thought he even spotted one or two famous Quidditch players. Beside him stood Fleur, who'd congratulated him on his second position, and apologised for attacking him. Harry waved off her apologies, and told her with a broad smile that she had nothing to apologise for.

At first, Fleur seemed quite surprised by Harry's maturity, then she took it in stride with a smile and a hug.

"Should I fear fire, brimstone and lightning for the next week, or am I forgiven for my insolence in the arena?"

Harry turned. Anaiah Malfoy stood six feet away, a small smile on her lips, and a silent apology on her beautiful face. For a moment Harry glared at her, and her brow receded upwards into a frown; then Harry's face broke into a smile. "You better watch yourself Malfoy," Harry began with a laugh, "I'm going to set any and all French champions on fire." Anaiah looked at him for a moment with uncertainty on her face, before she realized he was joking and broke into laughter.

Harry thought there was a levity in her laughter he hadn't felt before, and he realized it was because her mother was safe. She greeted him with a hug and a kiss on each cheek, which prompted him into blushing. She gave him a teasing smile before leaning forward to whisper a 'Thank you' in his left ear. She turned to stand beside him, their shoulders brushing as they talked.

The next champion to join them was Krum, who grunted in response to Fleur and Anaiah's polite greeting, and chose to ignore Harry completely. It all changed when Cedric walked up to them. He sported a few bandages around his arms, which smelled strongly of burn healing salves. He gave terse smiles to the female champions, and then his eyes fell on Harry. They stared at each other for a few long moments, and Fleur and Anaiah watched the two of them as Harry's emerald eyes turned ice cold.

The cool tension in the champions' pedestal was broken by the loud, slightly scratchy voice of Ludo Bagman as it tore across the arena. Harry slid his icy gaze off of Cedric, and onto the Judges. He barely heard Ludo announce that the task was worth thirty points.

"And so another task comes to an end. Our champions, though battered and bruised, have surfaced once more, some victorious, and some…not so much." Here the wizard gave a short chuckle that resounded in the noisy arena. "What I find interesting, and I'm sure so do most of our audience, is the not-so-subtle hostility some of our champions had towards one another…though I believe it is not in my place to comment." Harry heard a rumble of laughter pass through the crowd. "But! Now, onto the scores. As made clear earlier, this bonus task held points only for the first three champions, and so it is with great pleasure, the Judges announce thirty points to Miss Anaiah Malfoy- the clear winner of this task. Twenty go to Mr Harry Potter, and ten points to Miss Fleur Delacour."

The crowd applauded, and Harry sighed.

* * *

Butterflies in the stomach felt like an understatement to Harry. Tom Riddle knew nothing about how to dance, another reason why Harry hated him. McGonagall's course, Harry realised as he paced at the bottom of the stairs, waiting for Hermione to show up, was far less educative on the techniques of dancing as Harry would have liked it to be. He had wanted more than the basics, but it couldn't be helped.

Cedric and Cho had already arrived, and the latter kept on throwing Harry dark looks. Harry shrugged it off. _Your boyfriend should have known better._ Victor Krum was taking a Beauxbatons witch to the ball, and both of them were ignoring him steadfastly. Finnick Wurdy had a Slytherin standing beside him, and Harry recognized the female as Tracey Davis. _Huh! Didn't see that one coming._

Anaiah was, Harry found, going to the Ball with a seventh year Gryffindor and Fleur with a Ravenclaw known as Roger Davies. Both the witches were a vision of unparalleled beauty- Fleur in her dark green dress and Anaiah in her Silver affair, though Fleur was in a league of her own. She looked like something out of a fairy-tale- unbelievable and surreal. They smiled at him, and Harry stood with them for a few minutes, chatting amicably. He wondered how much longer Hermione was going to take…the Ball was about to begin in a few minutes.

Barely had the thought passed his mind, when Anaiah whistled to him, her eye jumping from him to somewhere behind him, a slightly lecherous grin on her face. Harry turned around uncertainly, and felt the moment rob him of breath and speech. Hermione was descending the steps, clad in a golden shoulder-less dress that was wrapped around her tightly enough to let Harry appreciate his girlfriend's curves. Below her waist, the dress loosened to flow around her knees in a slightly frock like manner, where it ended. The shimmery dress, Harry realized as Hermione came closer, had thin golden chains wrapped all around. A simple star pendant of the same colour, a golden bracelet, and plain galleon sized golden earrings comprised of her jewellery. Her hair was done up in an intricate bun, a few curls let loose to frame her face- which was touched up with a hint of make-up.

Standing in the entrance hall, amongst the other champions, a prim Professor McGonagall, and a paltry other students, Harry felt it all dissolve, blow away. In the disturbed silence of the hall, he could hear music flow in like a gentle breeze, and though he knew it was all in his head, he couldn't stop the smile that spread across his face. He watched her return his smile, there was a whooping sensation in his stomach, and she was in front of him, playing with her fingers nervously. She looked at him from underneath her lashes, a coy smile playing on her face. "Well?"

Harry didn't know what to say- didn't have any words to say. He could have spent the evening like that, but he knew he had to say something. "You look…stunning." He managed.

She just smiled at him. "Is that for me?" she asked, pointing to the carnation clutched in his left hand.

"Huh..wha-? Oh, yes. Yes, here…" He cursed himself mentally for stammering like a fool. He held out the white flower for her, and as she was about to take the white flower from his hands, he was struck with a flash of inspiration, and pulling out his wand instantly, Harry cast a quick coloration charm on the flower, turning its leaves to the same golden shades that adorned the girl in front of him. Hermione blushed in response, and then noticed Harry's attire.

Harry's muggle attire.

"Harry! What are you wearing? The ball requires you to wear dress robes, not a…not a tuxedo!" Her eyes were wide, and Harry knew she was about to launch herself onto a lecture about him being irresponsible. He cut her off before she could begin.

"Oh I know." He paused, letting a roguish smile spread across his lips, "I think this looks better. Don't you?"

Hermione looked appalled at his blatant disregard of rules. Harry found himself only amused. He knew he wasn't in any trouble- he'd already had had this conversation with McGonagall mere moments ago. "Hermione, you don't need to be so worried. Besides, it's time the Wizarding world saw where I stand on matters of Pure-blood supremacy. I'm a muggle-born supporter through and through Miss Granger." He finished, waggling his eyebrows pointedly at her.

She let loose an "Oh!" at that. Harry waited for the smile he knew would come. Instead, he found his lips captured in a _very_ -not-so-polite kiss, in the middle of the Entrance Hall. Again.

And naturally, he heard the same cough. Again.

"What is it with the Entrance Hall and the two of you? I swear to Merlin Mr Potter, if I catch the two of you behaving like this in the middle of the Entrance Hall one more time, it's going to be detentions with Filch for the rest of the month."

Harry turned around with an unashamed smile on his face. McGonagall looked mildly irritated, but Harry didn't care. This evening was supposed to be fun. That was exactly how he was going to keep it.

Dinner was a grand affair. The Great Hall was decked with Christmas decorations, and Harry felt Dumbledore might have gone a bit overboard with the absolutely _huge_ Christmas trees that stood in each corner of the hall. Little ice unicorns raced through the air from one tree to another, chased by ice dragons, which in turn were chased by an army of tiny knights made of ice. Two pairs of Christmas bells whizzed through the air, ringing at random spots and intervals. And to top it all, a lion, a serpent, a badger and a raven, all made of fire, danced and pirouetted near the ceiling of the great hall.

Large and small round tables dotted the Hall, with comfortable cushioned seats surrounding them, and coloured candles, each flaunting its own brand of coloured flame, hovered over them.

Harry was amazed. Dumbledore might have gone overboard, but from the amazed looks on the faces of every student inside the Great Hall, Harry knew it was worth it. Food consisted of a dozen and a half dishes he had never heard of. And the rest he had never tasted. Harry heard from a passing ghost that the food on the champions' table consisted of a collection of twelve cultures and cuisines.

And so it was, Harry went through dinner, slightly dazed, but nevertheless attentive to Hermione's consistent rant about the brilliant and _showy_ magic, and her nagging- he would have to teach her how to do that not so easy bit with the fire effigies.

Dessert was...confusing. Despite having a preference to Treacle tart, Harry didn't know what to try. In the end, he settled for what he thought was a ball of chocolate filled with liquid chocolate and custard, dipped in a creamy sweet substance whose name Hermione rattled away in French- the only part of which Harry remembered was 'sauce'.

Before long, the plates cleared away, magically disappearing into the tables, and Dumbledore stood up, passing a warm smile Harry's way, before announcing that the time for the champions to open the ball had come.

They opened the dance to whispers, stares, camera flashes and loud applause. Harry barely noticed it all. His entire focus was on Hermione, and the way her body danced so temptingly close to his own. A slow track played in the background and they swayed to it mindlessly. When Harry managed to tear his eyes away from Hermione, he saw the others. Fleur already looked fed up with her choice of partner. Anaiah, at least, appeared satisfied. The two witches were dancing so gracefully, it put every movement inside the Great Hall to shame.

Cedric and Cho were moving a tad slowly and Harry suspected Cedric still had a few injuries on him to be able to dance properly.

Harry found it amusing that Ron had attended the Ball stag. Whether it was out of necessity, or style, Harry didn't know, but when the two wizards' eyes met, Ron's turned away instantly.

They talked slowly as they moved around the dance floor, and each time Hermione whispered something in his ear, he inhaled her perfume- she smelled of roses and wine. His heart skipped a beat every time it happened. He suspected Hermione was aware of exactly how much she affected him, and her gentle brushes were neither as innocent, nor as accidental as Harry had earlier thought. Regardless, every time her body brushed against his, Harry had a fierce desire to make it stay _that way_.

By the time the fourth song had ended, Harry had fallen into a pattern of dance moves. His mind had become a blur of dance, Hermione, not-stepping-on-toes, and Hermione. All of it was a blessing, he supposed- the peace in the moment, the girl in his arms and the butterflies in his stomach. All of it was a charm- his jacket, her dress and the music.

All of it was magic- simple, true and palpable. To him it was unreal, like something stolen out of someone else's life, or a moment glanced at through a fleeting window of time that wasn't there to stay. It felt like a wild dream- just _being_ there with Hermione, in her pretty golden dress, the way the light hit her face as he twirled her around, and the way rogue strands of her hair fell across her face. There was nothing to worry about- the world had melted- Lord Voldemort had melted away, there wasn't any stupid tournament to scratch his throat, and there wasn't any Dementia.

He looked at her, and for a moment, he _looked_. She looked like she had on _that_ day, out in the rain, like she hadn't a care in the world, like the only thing that mattered was the boy twirling her around the dance floor- albeit a bit clumsily. Harry liked it.

He was pulled out of his rather interesting thoughts by a tapping on his shoulder. It was Fleur.

"Hermione, would you mind it terribly if I cut in?"

Hermione frowned, as if she _did_ mind terribly, but then covered her displeasure with a smile and stepped backwards, muttering something to Fleur, who laughed in response, and walking away towards the tables, with a backwards glance at Harry, as if to say _I'll be waiting._

Harry nodded at her and then turned to face Fleur, gulping nervously as she stepped in close. Dreading the movement more than a basilisk, Harry placed a gentle hand on Fleur's back, and letting his other take her in a light grip, proceeded to swing her around in the beginnings of a rather fast dance.

Initially, Fleur looked a bit troubled, but as the song progressed, she eased into comfort.

"I'm going to assume your original choice of a dance partner wasn't...interested in dancing?" Harry began tentatively. She glared at him.

"Don't even ask. It was a mistake to think I could have enjoyed a normal evening at a dance...like a normal girl. Sometimes my heritage can be a bother." She pursed her lips in displeasure, looking at Harry with a calculating gaze.

After a moment, she asked, "How do you do it? Hmm? Why aren't you affected by the allure?"

"Uh...I...I don't think I know how or why. I've just never felt a compulsion to notice you. You'll probably find the answer in 'the List of reasons why Harry Potter is awesome.'"

Fleur laughed, and Harry realised it was a sound people would die for.

"'The List of reasons why Harry Potter is awesome?' Should I ask of its existence in a world outside said Harry Potter's head?" she asked with a smile.

Harry returned with a hurt look, "Why Miss Delacour! You wound me! Everyone knows the list by heart." They burst into chuckles, and Harry was glad he had managed to edge away from the sensitive topic of Fleur's allure, and when she passed him an appreciative smile, he realized it hadn't passed her notice. They danced the rest of the song away in silence, and once the song ended, Harry led Fleur to the drinks corner where they were joined by Hermione, Susan, a giggling Hannah and a blushing Neville.

"You two look like you've been up to something naughty." Harry commented dryly. Neville yelped, and Hannah went red. Susan, laughter barely suppressed, admonished Harry, "Leave them be Harry! It's taken me long enough as it is to get the two of them together." They all made small talk for the next song, after which Susan demanded a dance and Harry took her up on the offer. They danced to a jazzy number, before Hermione cut in and claimed Harry back as her date.

"I hope you're not getting bored," Harry began worriedly "we can head out if you want."

"Harry, relax. This is good. I'm enjoying myself here...Though I think I wouldn't mind a trip to the lake sometime later." Her smile was infectious, and Harry found himself grinning like an idiot in no time.

The band hit them with a slow song, and Harry realized most of the people left on the dance floor were couples, people romantically involved with each other. Harry looked at Hermione, a bit nervous, but she merely smiled at him. And Harry thought, if she was ready to flaunt him, there was no reason he would shy away from flaunting her.

Tightening his grip on her hand and waist, he pulled her closer, so that they were _almost_ touching, she gasped slightly, but relaxed into his hold. And for the next few minutes, everything in Harry Potter's world was alright. With the girl he was crazy about in his arms, emerald eyes locked with brown, noses touching every now and then, and as an ice unicorn darted around their shoulders, making shrill, barely audible 'neighs', making Hermione laugh, everything in Harry Potter's world was more than alright- it was good.

* * *

The lake was cold- and frozen, and Harry stood on the frozen surface of the water, Hermione a few feet behind him on solid ground, cautioning him softly, wrapped in his tuxedo jacket. The moon was a large gibbous, showering them with silvery light, and making the cracks and the bubbles in the ice glitter like a thousand diamonds were trapped in them. The oak tree by the edge of the lake swayed gently in the cold breeze of the December night. Hermione who had outright refused his offer to join him on the thin ice he stood on and had taken refuge underneath the oak tree, shivered in response, her teeth chattering as she shook in the cold.

Hearing the sound and recognizing it for what it was, Harry cast a non-verbal warming charm on her, earning a murmur of gratitude in response. He stood there for a few minutes, staring at the moon, remembering the dance he had shared moments ago with the girl who stood behind him.

Somewhere far, far away, a wolf howled.

A click of golden heels alerted him that she was beside him, and he turned to her with a surprised, steady gaze. "I thought you thought of this as 'too risky and incredibly stupid'?" He said, quoting her from moments ago.

She rolled her eyes at him, a slow smile brushing across her lips. "Oh hush you!" They stood in silence for a few moments.

"If it's safe enough for you, then it's safe enough for me." She leaned into him, and Harry brought a hand up around her shoulders. "But it's not. Safe- I mean. It's not safe. The ice is too thin."

She shrugged at his words, as if it didn't worry her. "They why are you treading on it Harry?"

"Because for sometimes, and for some things, it's...for some moments, glittering shards in an otherwise dull glass tapestry, or bright red roses amongst dead leaves, not being safe is worth the...time spent. And those are the moments, I think, I remember the most, or feel alive in the most." Almost instantly, like clockwork, a muted crunch issued from the ice beneath, as a dull crack appeared from the point where Hermione's left heel dug into the ice.

He turned to look at her, waiting for her to hurry back to safety of the snow draped shore, but she was merely staring at him, as if she'd never seen him before. He shook her shoulder gently, afraid to damage their foothold further. "Hermione? The ice...you might want to step back."

She shook her head slowly, a slow but bright smile on her face. "I find myself least bothered." And with that, she took a step to the side, away from the crack, but also away from the shore.

Harry found himself staring at her with wonder. "You've changed, Hermione Granger."

She snorted lightly. "Huh! You're one to talk."

He joined her in hushed laughter, taking a step towards her, away from the shore.

"And if you fall?" He asked in a whisper, hoping madly that she didn't, and that the ice held.

"Catch me?" She offered hoarsely.

"Always."

Somewhere far, far away, another wolf howled.

* * *

"You fought _that_! With a _sword!_ " She'd spoken after a full minute. And her mouth still hadn't closed. Her grip on his right hand was turning his fingers blue. Harry still thought her reaction had been better than Dumbledore's, who'd stumbled and claimed the nearest wall for support with an exclamation of "Dear Merlin!"

They stood in silence for another couple of minutes, examining the basilisk. Harry realized it was much bigger than he had estimated, it seemed an easy seventy feet in length, and almost as wide as a car. Letting go of Hermione's hand, Harry moved towards the thing, pulling out his wand- just in case...

Its body had thinned certainly, as if it was shrivelling, but apart from that, there didn't seem to be any signs of rotting on the outside. Quite the contrary, its fangs were still wet with venom. He felt Dumbledore join him, Hermione in tow. "Harry, my boy, the next time I treat you like a child- or with any less respect than you deserve, either hit me with the sword of Gryffindor, or just say 'Basilisk'- though I much prefer the latter."

"I will." Harry replied with a small smile on his face as he studied Dumbledore's.

Hermione moved in front of him, taking his hand. "I still can't wrap my head around a thirteen year old Harry Potter against that thing- alone."

"But I wasn't alone. Fawkes was with me, remember? Poor bird got smacked about quite a bit. If Fawkes hadn't blinded the Basilisk-"

"But you ran this thing through with a _sword!_ " Hermione said forcefully, and Harry saw that she was getting worked up. "And got stabbed by its fang in return! Harry, do you know what the odds were?"

Harry gave her a bleak smile. "Slim to none?"

Her nostrils flared. "OH you think this is FUNNY?" And Harry saw trouble coming his way- he saw it coming a mile away. "Hey there's no need to worry about it now. It was more than a year ago! Besides I'm right here- and I'm still in one piece. And then, it wasn't like I'd planned to get rid of the thing by myself! Things just happened- you know how it is- you've been on enough of these...exercises in stupidity with me as it is."

"Indeed Miss Granger," said Dumbledore, coming to Harry's rescue, "I do not find it wise myself to dwell on the past. Though a sterner word goes to you Harry. Caution."

Harry nodded in response to Dumbledore's look, turning back to face the dead King of Serpents. "So, I was thinking, we can still get something out of this...venom, hide...I mean, basilisk hide is resistive to magic, I'll be damned if it isn't of some use."

Dumbledore looked at him steadily. "Harry- this-lying here in front of you, is a quite a fortune, though I doubt you need any of that. I'd suggest keeping the harvest to yourself. Basilisk blood and venom is rather rare, and used in potions and rituals of a rather shady nature...if you follow where I am going with this- it would be unwise to release ingredients from the finest Basilisk specimen the world has ever seen into the market during such times."

Harry nodded at him. They spent a few more minutes discussing the basilisk, before Dumbledore cast an enchantment over the corpse to preserve it, not that the basilisk needed it, and they moved towards the vacant end of the chamber, where Dumbledore drew a dueller's ward. Harry gulped uneasily. Despite Dumbledore's promise of going easy on him, he was of two minds- he was about to duel _Dumbledore,_ and he was about to _duel_ Dumbledore.

He watched Dumbledore's wand movements, knowing the spell Dumbledore was casting, but learning the little modifications Dumbledore had made to the spell, and comparing them to Lord Voldemort's. Sometimes, and mostly recently, he felt he knew too much. If a little knowledge was a dangerous thing, Harry wondered how catastrophic a lot of it could be. As the spell took hold, a circle of dull white light appeared on the ground, fifteen metres in radius. Dumbledore stepped inside it, looking around and firing a stunner to make sure the ward was working, before he nodded to Harry.

Harry gave a nod, pulling his cloak off, and turning around to face Hermione. "Would you mind holding onto this?" He asked softly, hoping he wasn't in trouble with her. She reached for the cloak and gave him an uncertain smile, "All the best Harry."

Dreading the calm look on Dumbledore's face, Harry closed his eyes for a moment to focus himself, going through his own spell inventory, and hoping his wits didn't desert him when he needed them the most.

Stepping into the circle, Harry bowed, as did Dumbledore, before Hermione, standing a few feet away from the circle, shouted "Begin!"

Dumbledore began slowly, and Harry waited for him to strike first. The headmaster's right foot moved in a slow circle, before his back crouched slightly and his right hand, clutching the Elder wand, came up in another circle, and Harry realized this was Dumbledore's own duelling stance. For a second, the old wizard was still, and then- then they were off.

If Harry hadn't seen it for himself, he wouldn't have believed that Dumbledore could move so fast. His wand shot forth a stunner and an _Incarcerous_ and then jumped to the side to begin his next spell- and all Harry managed was a _Protego._ The stunner was absorbed in the shield, and Harry's cutting spell sliced through the ropes, and by Dumbledore's fifth spell, Harry had picked up speed. He began with a stunner of his own, followed by a _Reducto_ and a summoning spell on Dumbledore's shoes, all of which were nullified before they even made it halfway to Dumbledore.

Something whizzed past his left ear, and Harry realized he'd come _very_ close to being The-boy-who-lasted-five-seconds. And Dumbledore was supposedly going easy on him. He dodged another stunner, and lashed out with his own, which was deflected into the ground and the next one right back at him. He barely managed a shield in time, stumbling backwards as his body adjusted to his abrupt movements.

Dumbledore was a whirlwind of movements, his wand spinning in a specific pattern as he murmured hushed words to his wand. The wand movements were foreign to Harry, though some spells weren't, but that was a moot point- since the speed with which the Headmaster's spells rushed at him was so incredible, Harry had a tough time even counting them.

He found himself being pressed back towards the edge of the dueller's ward, and the moment he stepped outside of it, the duel would be over. And the way the duel had begun, the 'over' part didn't seem too far away. He side stepped another curse- retaliating with a freezing charm, supplanted by a boiling one, before he needed to dodge again. It was a dance of frustration, and all that time, Harry found to his bitter frustration, Dumbledore had that twinkle in his eyes.


	11. About Cupboards and Caves

_I would like to thank all of you for your beautiful and helpful reviews. I reread them whenever I feel my muse fleeing. Your support and suggestions mean an incredible lot to me. I apologise for the delays, but I work on borrowed laptops now, and Engineering isn't as easy as I hoped it would be. But, as someone once said- we pray not for easier times, but to be stronger men._

 _Onto the story then! If my facts are correct, and I assume they are, then this is the first time Harry's meeting Sirius after the incidents of the third year. Also, I apologise in advance for any Sirius-serious puns that might spring up- they can't be helped. My version of Sirius might surprise you a bit, but I wanted to keep him a major character in the story, unlike canon where his only role was to cause emotional pain to Harry and waste his own potential as a character._

 _On a personal note- and this goes out to my girlfriend who left a small but precious review, the feeling is mutual, honey._

* * *

The chilled wind, filled with piercing snowflakes, buffeted against their shivering forms as Harry spotted the abnormally large black dog, emerging from the scrubs at the snow covered foot of the large rocky hill. It barked once, to show recognition, and then turned around to trot upwards, jumping with some effort from one rock to another, before finally disappearing into the shrubbery.

Harry paused for a moment, making sure to stare hard at his surroundings. Behind him, Hermione did the same. Finding the road to be wholly deserted, the two started off at a brisk pace, halting only when they came across a difficult twist in the non-existent trail the dog left behind. If it weren't for the merry barks the dog uttered all along, they would have lost their way upwards.

Halfway up the snow covered path, it began to rain.

Loose bits of rocks started giving way to the piling mud and snow, making Harry slip almost twice, and Hermione express quite a bit of anxiety. Thunder cackled over them, an untamed shard bellowing hoarsely to the heavens, echoing in the rolling, raging clouds above. The dog and its mad excitement were lost in the downpour, and the mammal had to retrace its path to the young magicals several times to correct their path.

Harry was drenched to the skin, his sweater hanging rather wetly around him, and behind him Hermione's shared the same fate. He couldn't feel her hand, clutched tightly in his though it was, and the way he was shivering violently, he wondered how she was faring. He was worried if wherever his Godfather was taking him was too far, she would get sick.

Her sickness or lack thereof, was the last of his worries though. This was his first trip out of Hogwarts, and even though the storm had ruined the Hogsmeade weekend, and most of the students had been confined to the safety of the castle, Harry had managed to obtain a signed note from Dumbledore for the trip.

And Harry could feel it. Something had clicked- somewhere. Something had shifted- somewhere. In the dynamics of the world, the way the gears turned in the Wizarding society, a wheel had disembarked from the machine, and tumbled off into the abyss. It was as if a seal had been made. Something had been set.

The entrance to the cave was barely noticeable, draped with a curtain of thick moss and vines, and if it wasn't for the long haired handsome man standing at its mouth, holding the barricade apart for the two of them, they wouldn't have seen it. Harry didn't even bother entering inside. He crushed Sirius Orion Black into a hug as Hermione rushed into the safety of the cave.

Sirius smelled fresh, which surprised Harry, and after the longest moment, as he stepped back, he realised he looked much healthier than when he'd last seen him. He seemed to have put on twenty pounds at the least. His shoulder length hair hung in neat locks around his freshly shaven face. Adorning his face was a thin moustache that curled demurely at its ends. He wore, much to Harry's shock, a neatly pressed plain white shirt, tucked primly into a slim black trouser, and a black jacket over it all. He looked rather fetching, albeit a bit weak and sick, almost as if he hadn't slept for months.

Harry stared for a few moments; behind him Hermione was positively gaping. They clearly weren't expecting the Prisoner of Azkaban to recover so fast after a fourteen* year spell in the harsh prison.

(* _fourteen because I shifted the story's timeline by an year)_

Sirius smiled brightly at Harry, though Harry felt he was panting heavier than a healthy person should have. Maybe, Harry thought, he was still recovering. The wizard pulled out a wand, and cast a good measure of warming and drying charms over the two of them, and waved them deeper into the cave, where a bright blue fire burned in a niche in the cave floor. "Saw your photographs at the Ball, Harry Potter, and thought I'd pick a leaf from your notebook. Your mother would have wept tears of joy! Can't say I'm any less proud!"

Harry stood another second gawking and then remembered he had to speak. "Wha-...The Ball! Uh yeah...I ...um..thanks." Then he reprimanded himself mentally for appearing like a fool in front of Sirius. His nervousness was granted, he was meeting his Godfather properly for the first time, without a contingent of dementors out for their souls- the first authority figure in his life who was related to him and who deeply cared for him, but for the same reason, he didn't want Sirius to think he was a fool. He took a deep breath, his eyes landing on his girlfriend, who was watching him pensively.

"You remember Hermione Granger, my best friend?" He extended a hand towards the witch, gesturing at her to come forward. She stepped forward uncertainly, extending a polite greeting towards the elder wizard. "Hello, Mr. Black. It's a delight to see you again."

Sirius looked from one of them to the other, the smile slowly fading from his face. "Uh...Is something wrong? Did I do something?" No one answered, instead, they stared at each other for some time, and lightning rang out in the heavens, amplifying the silence left in its wake, before Sirius realised what the problem was.

"Why are the two of you acting like this? Of course I remember Hermione! She saved my life! And why on earth would you call me Mr Black, Hermione? You remind me of my father! What is wrong?"

They stared around for another moment, before Harry relaxed. The tension left his shoulders with a sigh, and he gave Sirius a slow smile. "I'm sorry for being so daft...it's just that- I've never done this kind of thing before."

Behind him, Hermione tittered, and Harry knew she had caught him. She knew what he had tried so hard to hide. The tension within him was his scar from the Dursleys, and somewhere within him, he had been afraid Sirius would hate him. He gave her a look that said it all, and turned his attention back towards Sirius, who was smiling at him.

He studied the man for a few seconds. "You- um, don't take this the wrong way, but you look-" "Hot?" Sirius asked, cutting him off with a dashing grin. "-healthy. Uh, I was going to say healthy. I thought you were on the run, in hiding and whatnot. I'm not complaining, mind you, but this is a pleasant surprise."

Sirius chuckled loudly, "Well, I _am_ Sirius Black, of the Most Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. I have a reputation to uphold." He took Harry by the shoulders then, looking at him like a blind man seeing the sun for the first time.

"I must deeply apologise for saying this, but you remind me so much of James...Merlin...you're his splitting image- except for the eyes...like I said...you have y-" "My mother's eyes. I know..." Harry gave him a tired smile, nervously running a hand through his hair. Sirius nodded with a smile, and the pride that shone through his grey eyes in that moment overwhelmed Harry, and all he could do was return the hug that Sirius offered him.

They moved to stand around the blue flames, and Sirius conjured three rather plush chairs for them to lounge on, before pulling a bottle of amber coloured liquid from the dark corners of the cave. He gave them an apologetic smile, "I hope you don't mind, my constitution hasn't improved much at all, and this is something I have sorely missed in my years at Azkaban."

They nodded their heads to show their assent, and sat down on the chairs, making themselves comfortable. It seemed like an eerie new world inside the cave, the thunder of the storm raging outside a dull roar in their ears, a cold breeze gnawing at their bones, and the muted light perforating the green membrane of moss and ferns. The cave was full of solace, its tender silence kissing their ears, isolating them from the world.

A few moments passed in companionable silence in which Sirius poured himself a small amount of scotch in a crystal glass and then turned to them with a smirk on his face. "You see dear, just the other day, I found myself rather bored, and my butler provided me with a series of rather...how do you say... _teenage_ magazines... and the like. Now," his tone turned particularly smug, and Harry sensed something was coming, "imagine my surprise, when I saw a rather racy photograph, and I distinctly remember seeing your lips joined to another set, and quite a fetching set too. What have _you_ ," he turned towards Hermione, "to say for yourself, Hermione dear?" His tone was proof enough that they weren't in any sort of trouble, on the contrary, he looked rather proud of Harry

Hermione, on the other hand, sputtered like a trout, and Sirius burst into laughter, though he was coughing within a few seconds. All humour fled Harry as his coughs turned rather bark like, and leaning over, he spat blood at the side of the cave. When the ailment stopped, Sirius took a long sip from his crystal tumbler, emptying it in one smooth gulp, then gave a gentle cough before finally quieting down again.

The worry in Harry's eyes shone like a light house. "Sirius, are you alright? You shouldn't be out in your condition! I think-"

"Ah! Come now Harry! You make it sound like I am pregnant!" He chuckled at his own joke, and though Harry smiled a bit, he couldn't appreciate the humour. Seeing his distress, Sirius turned serious, "I'm fine Harry. Besides I wasted fourteen years of my life in Azkaban. Time I should have spent with you. I'm not going to waste anymore of it sleeping at home. I'll sleep when I'm dead, Harry, I'll sleep when I'm dead."

"Are you sure you should be drinking that, Sirius?" Hermione asked, clearly disapproving of the alcohol Sirius was pouring himself again. Sirius smiled at her sagely. "Tell me dear child, where is a ship safest at?"

Hermione gave him a confused look before taking a moment to think about his question. "In their harbours?"

Sirius beamed at her, shivering slightly in the cold, and moved his chair a bit closer to the fire. "Exactly! Ships are safe- safest- in their harbours, my dear." He took a sip, letting in a pause, "But that is not what they are made for." He took another sip. "Are they?"

Hermione pursed her lips, locking like she didn't quite agree with the man's logic, but she decided to let it go. But Sirius continued. "They're made for riding out storms and hurricanes, for wrecking onto the shores of distant myriad lands. They're made for inspiring awe, for conquering oceans." He was staring into the flames now, fingers tight around the tumbler. "So were we..." The last part he added in a hushed whisper, voice shaking, and eyes clouded with something dark, but the silence in the cave ensured that they all heard it. Etched upon his face were regret, remorse and frustration. Guilt. Anger. Gloom.

As Harry and Hermione stared at him, he seemed to realise he had wandered off, and he shook his head, as if pulling himself out of a daze. "Sorry about that." And then loudly, "So! Congratulations are in order!" And as the two students thanked him, Harry wondered how much Sirius had lost in one swoop- friends, non-existent family, and above all- his freedom.

They talked for a few moments about inconsequential things, before Sirius asked the unavoidable question. "Before I say anything Harry, know this that I am the proudest Godfather in existence, okay? I can't believe you're sitting here with me after what happened in the first task. But you are, and that speaks volumes about the kind of Godchild I have. But...I must ask this...and do not for one moment think that I can't be trusted- because you are all I have to live for now, Harry. And I will not forgive myself if I fail you once again. Where did you learn all of that? Dumbledore's been in touch. He was...very informative about you. I guess he's trying to make up for his failings. He told me..." He paused for a sip of his scotch, "He told me about the Dursleys, seems like a visit is in order. He also made me aware of the extent of your knowledge about the Dark Lord and his activities. I feel I must express my discomfort and worry. And though I have no right to ask this of you, I wish you would come clean to me."

Harry stared the man hard in the eyes, letting the seconds tick by. "You're not going anywhere Sirius, leave the Dursleys alone." He got up from his chair, choosing to stand by the mouth of the cave as he talked. "They're simply not worth it." He sighed, and when he spoke, the change in his demeanour was palpable. He'd become a vessel of his time- his voice bore the years his life had added into another dimension, where his body did not age, but his mind and his eyes and his voice did. "As for Dumbledore, he's a meddling fool. I respect him, but he's- he's...he has made his share of mistakes. You've got a clean slate Sirius. Please try and keep it that way." He turned to stand against the rough wall, staring back inside at the blue flames.

"Okay. I...just...just talk to me Harry. You and me- you and- we're our own team Harry. I know what's coming. Alright? And I'll die before I let you go unprepared into the hell that is about to be unleashed. I don't care what Dumbledore says...He's got the Order- they've got their own agenda. The ministry is doing nothing. The Dark Lord on the other hand, has been extremely busy. And you, Harry, I know you've been preparing-hell, after the shows you've been putting the entire Wizarding World knows it. So just let me in okay?

"I don't ask for your complete trust, I know that is a hard thing to earn, but let me in a bit. Just crack the doors open just a tiny little bit, and we'll go a long way Harry. I know I can never fill in the void James left...and I wouldn't dare to...but I want to be the next best thing. I believe I love you more than I would have loved my own son Harry, you're all I have now, so know this that you can trust me with anything and everything."

Everything was silent for sometime then, and the storm sang its own song of wrath outside, while Sirius waited in horrible anticipation for Harry to respond to his heartfelt monologue. But Harry's response was more frightening than anything he could have imagined. He stood in silence for minutes, eyes shut tightly. And then, just when the silence had become unbearable, he heard it. A soft quiet sob escaped Harry's clenched mouth, and a fat tear rolled out of his equally clenched eyes. Before Sirius could react, and even before Harry's own fingers could reach up to wipe the tear away, Hermione was upon him.

Gentle arms took him into an embrace he melted right into, and he cried quietly upon her shoulder like a wave breaking down upon a rock. For the first time in his life, Harry Potter felt loved, and if gentle words from a man he was meeting for the second time in his life could have such an effect, Hermione wondered with enormous hate what kind of life the emotional aspect of Harry Potter had led. She had heard from him, of course, she knew the story- but she couldn't know what he had felt in those moments of hate and desolation, when all he had to comfort himself was the spiders in his cupboard that would ease the hateful silence with their skittering. And so she took him into her arms even as they slid down the wall to sit against it, and gave of her what he needed, as Sirius stood behind them, a few steps away, uncertain and horrified, unsure of his role in the life of the child time had deemed fit enough to make a man. _It was too early_ , he thought, _and I've been a fucking idiot._

She cooed to him, whispering words in his ears Sirius couldn't hear. Sirius Black felt like an intruder, for it seemed something too pure to find in two people so young. But Harry had already regained control of himself- he'd promised himself he wouldn't cry, at least not when people could see him. His grip on Hermione, however, didn't loosen. He raised his head as she wiped his tears, and hugged her to himself, kissing her forehead in gratitude when she pulled back. She gave him a smile to remind him that his world was alright.

"I'm sorry about that- I just...uh...that was the first time someone has ever said that to me...and I know I'm being really silly, but I...-" He quietened after that, voice hoarse, and Hermione gave him a kiss on his cheek, before turning around to sit with her back against him, and he wrapped his arms around her..

"No, no...see this- this is completely fine! Harry- I appreciate you letting me in, okay? And I always want you to remember this, Harry, no matter where you are, or what you do- even if you think you've done something horrible, I'll always have your back. We're a team now okay? The best team in the world!"

It took him a second, but Harry found himself grinning at that, and he nodded at Sirius to show his appreciation. They receded into silence for a few comfortable minutes, and when Hermione shivered, Harry pulled her in tighter, receiving a smile in return. Sirius just sat in his chair, watching the two of them fondly.

"I don't really know how this started Sirius- I mean, I know _what_ started this, but the why is still a mystery to me. It turns out- I've got the lucky end of Dementia." He ignored the sharp intake of breath from his Godfather. "And...from somewhere- I...it was probably the killing curse that left it all behind...I guess- Hermione's still looking into it- but I've got _His_ memories. Lord Voldemort. Right up to the point he died- it isn't complete yet- there are huge spaces in between- his later years...and- and his death. I know Lord Voldemort really _really_ well."

And Harry talked. Moments passed as he told Sirius, without jumping into the finer details. By the end of it, Sirius had drunk away half of the bottle. He looked like he was going to be sick. With trembling hands, he conjured a pair of crystal glasses, and filling them with a little amount of the amber liquid, floated them over to the two of them.

Harry stared at the tumbler for a long time. Testosterone won over logic, and maybe a glass of scotch was probably the last thing that would try to kill him. Ignoring his disapproving girlfriend with a smile, Harry reached forward and took the glass. Hermione, stared at the glass in his hand for a few seconds, and then with a huff, grabbed her own.

Sirius let loose a whistle, and Hermione turned to glare at him. "You're rubbing off on her Harry."

But Harry wasn't listening. He was staring wide eyed at Hermione, who was smirking at him. It was the first time he was seeing that smirk on her face, and it terrified him in the best way possible. He suddenly felt a lot more alive than he was a second before. A smile spread on his face, his eyes locked with hers, and a silent challenge passed- _you daren't!_

She brought the tip of the glass to her lips, eyes never leaving his, _watch me!_

And she drank it all down in one gulp. Behind them, Sirius burst into applause.

"She's a keeper, Harry!" Sirius crowed as Hermione burst into a series of coughs, eyes watering slightly.

"I know." Harry replied solemnly, smiling as he drank his own alcohol.

They sat in silence for a while, before Harry turned to look at Sirius. "Hey, I've kept up my end, its time for you to tell me your story now! You don't really look like someone who has spent fourteen years in Azkaban- not that I'm complaining."

Sirius laughed lightly, setting his glass aside. His eyes raked over Harry and his girlfriend once, before he crossed his legs and said, "Well, I _am_ Sirius _Black_ , of the most Ancient and most Noble House of the Blacks!" He struck a mighty pose in the chair, head turned to the side as he twirled his moustache. They sniggered at him, and he laughed a little too, before coughing again. "Oh...well...before...before _that_ night, before- before the night your parents died, your father and I had qualified for the _Vigilum Vis_...That's the Special Forces team that works under the ICW, er- my point is...I was well respected...despite what my parents thought of me...or the rest of the purebloods...I had contacts...I travelled the world... I was...I was renowned...they knew who Sirius Black was...and dark wizards feared us. They feared James Potter and Sirius Black. We were _good_.

"And then- then they hunted us down- the _big bad Lord Voldemort and his gang of clowns_!" He spat out the name, acid on his tongue. The rage was evident on his face, red and twisted as it was, still handsome in the dim light. "They made James go into hiding! James Potter! Of the Noble and Ancient House of Potter! They made _me_ go into hiding! The hunters became the hunted...Disgrace!"

His eyes had that faraway look again...and Harry wondered how much the man in front of him wished Harry was his father. Sirius was breathing heavily, but as his eyes fell on Harry, he returned back to the present. "I still have those habits I suppose...I can't go on looking like a homeless person forever now, can I? But let's not talk about me Harry. Let us focus on you, okay?

"So...this...this war that is coming soon Harry...Dumbledore wouldn't want me telling you this I suppose...but fuck Dumbledore! He's not making the rules anymore. There is no greater good this time. Just us. It's every faction for itself. Dumbledore will have started the Order again- and I doubt he'll let you in on it- if he does...credit to him then. If I were you, I wouldn't worry about it- I'll be keeping you posted.

"Also, Albus told me about the house the two of you bought, and I pitched in my share. Its better warded than ever now- I performed some of the wards myself- some of them are goblin wards- they're expensive- but they will keep us safe. We've got two properties now- the house is yours and Dumbledore's...but mine belongs to us Harry. Just us. We'll be playing our own game."

Harry stared at Sirius for a long minute, he rather liked the way the man said 'we' instead of 'you' or 'I'. He nodded back at him, finding speech a bit difficult. It was probably the alcohol, but some of it could have been Sirius' overwhelming love for him.

* * *

They sat in the cave till the sun started its descent, and Sirius regaled Harry with tales of his father's time at Hogwarts. The cloudbank had passed over the summit, and the storm seemed to have abated slightly. Harry sensed the late hour, and very reluctantly, he recognized the need to return to Hogwarts. He glanced at Hermione, who seemed a bit drunk, and burst into chuckles at the wild look on her face. Realizing he had to be the adult, he pulled her up along with him, and turned to face Sirius.

"Leaving already, Harry?" The elder wizard asked, his voice a bit ruffled. It was then that Harry realized they had drunk away the whole bottle. A bit worried now, he mentally assessed Sirius' condition. "You know I don't want to leave, Sirius. Are you sure you can make it back to- to your house?"

"Eh? I'll be fine, Harry. I'll be fine." He looked at Harry for a moment, eyes full of nostalgia, and then that turned into pride. Harry could see it, feel it emanating from those silver orbs. "You be careful, Harry Potter. A pact has been made with the lesser devils. That is the reason behind this dreary weather. Soon- soon Harry, a pact will be made with the greater ones. The King of the devils dances again- and the mad, mad men will wage war to keep him dancing. So be careful, and don't you worry about this lad here," he said, thumping his chest lightly, "the Blacks take care of their own. And you're my family now."

He walked forwards slowly, took Harry by the shoulders, and hugged him.

"Don't kiss my boyfriend."

Harry let loose a short bark of laughter. He stepped away from Sirius to look at Hermione. Her hair was a mess- eyes red and drunk, and hands on her waist. She was looking at them accusingly. For some reason, Harry thought she looked ridiculously tempting. Beside him, Sirius laughed gently.

"Take care of her too, Harry. She's a rare one. And if you ever- ever, need a broom cupboard...ahem! You know who to write to, don't you, kid?"

"I do."

"Very well then, Harry. We'll talk more when I see you again. It's been a long day...eh, could have been longer. Write to me if you need my help, though I doubt you will. Farewell Harry."

Harry watched his Godfather wrap his arms around himself, and took Hermione's small hand in his own. His eyes scanned Sirius one last time, "I'll tell you all about broom cupboards when I see you again. Stay safe and free." Hermione wrapped her arms around him, and Harry could smell the alcohol on her. She nuzzled against him, and Harry inhaled against her hair.

"Devil kings and their mad men," he said to Sirius as they stepped out of the cave together, "the thing about Fire, Sirius, the thing about _fire_ is- it burns them _all_."

Sirius put a hand on his shoulder, "Even the sane ones Harry. Fire does burn them all."

Harry's eyes were dark when he looked at Sirius for the last time that day, "Even the sane ones Sirius. But sane men do not dance. Devils and mad men do."

* * *

 _I could have written more- but this felt like an ideal place to end the chapter. So, what did you think of this Sirius? I tried to get him to stick to canon, while also integrating a few of my own elements._


End file.
